Pride of a General
by Nephilim Rising
Summary: On a long journey from being an unknown SOLDIER to the renowned General, from a man to the Ancient, to god - Sephiroth's story told from his point of view. Sephiroth x Genesis. M for cynicism, adult content, and dark themes.
1. Prelude

_**Summary**_**:** Pre-CC, starting before the Wutai war, CC, post-Nibelheim **warped** canon. "For me it was a long struggle from the Second Class Soldier to the General, from the one who obeys orders to the one who issues them, a torturous path of friendship and love, of joy and disappointment, of devotion and treason. Yet, as I stand, gazing into the green, mako-tinged depths of a capsule in the Nibelheim reactor, one question still remains unanswered – who was I and what was my higher purpose of existence."

_**Disclaimer**_**:** I own nothing or no one. If I did (and wrote the storyline for the game), Square Enix would go bankrupt.

_**Pairings**_**:** Sephiroth/Genesis.

_**A/N:**_ This story is written because of my endless desire to expand on Sephiroth's character. Be warned that if you don't enjoy him, you should leave now because the whole fic is just about Sephiroth, his opinions, world-views, thoughts derived as closely from his canon words and behavior as I can. It will be written from Sephiroth's first POV. As all my stories, it is strictly Sephiroth/Genesis, yet not a love story at all, but rather a complicated story of a General, a lover, a friend, and a brilliant (even if often dark) mind. I decided to write it finally - after having studied a lot of extra materials - because in my opinion Sephiroth most of all deserves to have his own story and because personally I am SICK of Cloud defeating him. So be warned as well that in this story it will never happen.

_**Dedicated**_ _**to:**_ everyone, who was patient with my endless ramblings about Sephiroth's character. :D

_**Warning:**_ rated for violence, dark themes, yaoi, military themes, general cynicism and, especially, last episode.

* * *

**~ PRIDE OF A GENERAL ~**

_**"Yes, Sephiroth... He was brilliant. Perhaps too brilliant..." (FF7 script, President Shin-Ra).**_

**Prelude.**

The uniform I wear looks unfamiliar, foreign even, and as my eyes adjust to seeing deep, dark blue instead of purple, I cannot refrain from asking myself what this change will bring. I am no longer a cadet, nor am I a Third Class, for yesterday I successfully passed all required tests to rise one step higher in the pyramid of a powerful organization I have served all my life.

Professor Hojo – there I cannot help but shudder in disgust – was extremely content with my performance, yet I know I could have done better and I know precisely whereat. As I go over and over the finals in my head, I keep seeing my weak points and failures, and therein I feel dissatisfaction. I am used to demanding a lot from myself, more so since I understand great responsibility lain on my shoulders, knowing wherefore I am being trained with excessive harshness.

I know that I am destined to become more than just a SOLDIER, even a First Class, whereat others would have stopped greatly pleased with themselves. My fate is to become a hero, a symbol, a legend, and even now I understand the significance of being such.

I am Sephiroth, but my name will yet tell you nothing.

As I give my reflection in the mirror the last once-over, I can't help but feel a mixture of emotions, none of which I allow to be reflected on my face or in my eyes. I am satisfied, and yet slightly nervous with the upcoming assignment my instructor, First Class Masumi, will be taking me to. To hide my feelings is a habit of my childhood; I had to face my first enemy before I knew how it felt to have a friend, and long before I grasped how to express myself freely, I learned that the world around me didn't care about my feelings.

Therefore I would rather not make my weaknesses obvious.

Although my uniform is clean and perfectly ironed, I straighten it and finally turn away from the mirror. My instructor meets me at the door to the supply room. He wears his usual black uniform and long blonde hair tied in a ponytail.

"I am ready, Sir," I salute, straightening and freezing until he dismisses me with a friendly nod.

I was good at maintaining discipline; unlike one of my friends, Second Class Genesis, I am and always was very patient. However, we share a common trait. Like Genesis, I feel dissatisfaction obeying orders – I would rather be issuing them – but for now I see it as necessary evil I will have to accept until I become SOLDIER First Class. Attending Hojo's lab and undergoing numerous tests is another necessary evil I do not fight.

"The helicopter is already waiting for us. We should hurry," Masumi remarks, while we start walking down the corridor to the elevator that will take us to the helicopter pad. In the hallway we go by a group of scientists in white smocks, and I recognize faces from the labs. Thereupon I curtly nod to greet them, and they return my gestures, for they know me, some better, others worse. After all, as long as I remember myself, I have spent all my life within the walls of Shin-Ra headquarters with a few exceptional days when I was sent to the missions to Midgar or Junon. One might see my life as a dull and monotonous existence, as both Angeal and Genesis kept asserting, yet I have never seen the difference. I simply do not know. When they told me of the other places with picturesque landscapes, like their hometown Banora, I wondered how it looked, yet could not imagine it before my eyes.

I still… wonder.

The elevator takes us to the roof in silence. I find it unnecessary to speak and distract my instructor, unless the matter is of certain importance. Before we board, I accept my faithful katana and strap it to my back, watching as the Shin-Ra building slowly disappears in the veil of thick smoke that always covers Midgar. The pilots are Turks, yet I know neither of the two.

"What is the urgency, Masumi?" I finally speak to my instructor who hasn't told me of the mission's objective yet.

"There is a monster I was requested to deal with in Midgar slums," Masumi crosses his legs and relaxes, something I do not allow myself in his presence. "It was said to inhabit the sewers, and since those are one hell of a labyrinth, it wouldn't hurt to have you with me."

I nod in appreciation. Experience is invaluable, yet more so I am glad to have earned Masumi's trust and faith after a year of training under his command. I am certainly more than capable of dealing with some secondary slum monster, I think, and the thought does not lack certain smugness. Unnoticeably I unclench my fists, letting my eyes close for a moment. I cannot belie my instructor's hopes as I have never failed before, as I always was the best.

Such titles are hard to earn, but so easy to forfeit.

"Where would you want us to drop you off, Sir?" The younger pilot interrupts my thoughts, and for a moment it is me who wants to give an answer, but I stop myself in time, realizing I am the Second Class only, even if one of the youngest Seconds in Shin-Ra history.

"The roof of that building should suffice," Masumi's answer echoes my own, and I lower my gaze, resting my eyes on the slowly approaching red tiles of what from above looks like an abandoned workshop.

Having plunged into darkness underneath the plates, the helicopter lands with a slight jerk, and I am the first to jump out of it while it is still moving. The noises of rotating airscrews drown the words, but as the older pilot friendly waves at me, I can hear, "Good luck, Sephiroth," and nod in response.

That was my name, however, it yet told of nothing.

Masumi touches my shoulder, having helped out of thoughtfulness I froze in, watching the helicopter vanish in neon-lit darkness.

"Let's go."

With those words he disappears, having jumped off the roof. I follow, linger on the brink, my eyes riveted on the swaying edge, and for a moment it is fear I feel, fear to jump, akin to the slightly nauseating emptiness in my stomach, but I force myself to overpower it and take the last step. The swish of air in my ears ends whenas my feet and my left palm touch the rubble and I land in the cascade of scattered silver hair I always keep long.

The hair is another pride of mine.

In a swift movement I rise, brush the unruly platinum lock off my forehead and follow Masumi into the house, as if nothing happened. My back nearly burns from the unfriendly gazes set against it, and somehow I can feel that Shin-Ra is not welcome in the slums. I yet have to find out why.

The building appears to be an abandoned workshop indeed. The greenish light penetrates inside through the chinks in the battered and boarded up in a slipshod manner windows, and in narrow beams I can discern dust floating in the air. Wood shavings softly crunch underneath my boots as I slowly skirt a huge table with rusty tools lain out on it, my katana unsheathed. Nothing. The room is otherwise empty.

"Sephiroth," my instructor's voice is muffled, for it rings from the adjoining room, "I found it."

Masumi means the entrance to the sewers. I slowly near the iron grating he is holding up, slowly not due to timidity, but because I begin sensing the smell I know all too well.

"Mako," I assert curtly, eyes narrowed nearly to slits. I know its acrid scent, its sensation like a breath of wind on my cheek, for I know everything that has to do with the substance we call mako. Involuntarily I check the materia slots, feeling reassured at the familiar icy tingling underneath my fingers.

Masumi agrees, "I begin to understand now why I was sent to this mission. This monster has, likely, escaped from the labs."

My instructor understands he has said something I wasn't supposed to hear when sees blood draining from my face. The truth is stunning, as though I have just hit a wall, or had a bucket of ice-cold water poured over my head.

The scientists, the same scientists who claim to have been experimenting on behalf of making our lives better, are responsible for creating abominations that freely roam around killing people.

"What do you mean?" I inquire quietly, but Masumi is silent, his glowing with opal tinge eyes hidden from my demanding, despite belonging only to a Second, look.

Anger arises in me when I think of something I am _not supposed_ to know. Who do they think I am? An obedient puppet?

"How can it be from the labs… Sir?" I ask again, keeping my voice polite and cold, still unable to comprehend the true meaning of what has just been uttered.

"Forget about it, Sephiroth," my instructor irritably grimaces, thereupon shakes his head as though trying to fend off a haunting thought. "Let's find the beast and be done with it."

He jumps into the gaping opening before I have time to object, and I hear a splash of mud.

The thought of Shin-Ra breeding monsters hasn't completely sunk in yet, however, I already feel like I have just lost a piece of innocence. Not that there are many still left in me, I admit bitterly and follow.

I do not forget something of such importance even if outwardly I pretend I do.

When my eyes adjust to utter darkness of sewers, the scent of mako becomes stronger, the unpleasant smell of waste notwithstanding. I split up with my instructor, feeling glad that we did, for I am uncertain whether I now want to fight side by side with him.

I am no longer a child, have never truly been one, and that my instructors fail to understand.

I follow the acrid scent, unsure whether Masumi is able to sense it. The surroundings are nearly hidden from me in velvety veil, and I feel I am moving only as I hear splashes of mud and squeaking of rats I drive away as I go. I do not get too far.

The monster appears before me in a blur of glowing, unmistakably mako-enhanced eyes, I take a step back to dodge the claws I rather _feel_, not see, tearing the fire materia out of the slot on my shoulder and throwing it into the refulgent dots. The heat caresses my gloved hand as I let go of the glowing orb, and the spurt of flames in a spear-like shape pierces the monster's side, having illumined the narrow sewer corridor from the wet floor to the low ceiling. With a growl, the monster jumps, strewing the sparks around as its fur continues to burn. I whirl, the handle of my katana firmly gripped between gloved fingers, the scattered silver belatedly following me, and then I feel my blade plunge into the pliant body, cleaving it in half. I swiftly pull it out and deliver another slash while the monster is still in the air. The head with glowing mako eyes falls into the shallow pool on the floor, and I feel something hot burn my face.

The monster lies motionless; I see the body because some parts of it are still burning, emitting a faint glow.

During the short battle I am calm and collected, and only as the last pieces of flesh burn low on the stilled water do I let myself take a deep breath and slowly wipe the monster's blood off my cheek.

I feel myself smiling a faint smile, nearly invisible in the corners of my lips and, likely, overlooked by anyone – if there was anyone – gazing at my face at the moment. But I am smiling.

I am Sephiroth, SOLDIER Second Class, and my name has yet to find its meaning.

Still and all, I take pride in every victory.


	2. Chapter I

_**A/N: **_I also believe Seph was a general around 19, which makes him 17 at the beginning of this episode.

* * *

_**"I **__**knew ever since I was a child, I was not like the others. I **__**knew **__**mine was a **__**special **__**existence." (Sephiroth, Crisis Core).**_

EPISODE I

SOLDIER

_Chapter __I._

_Two years later._

It eventually paid off, my devotion, my sweat, my effort I put into training, fighting, and killing. My obedience I put into serving. Just like I stood herein two years ago, I stand in the supply room now, a proud SOLDIER First Class clad in black. I changed, as one would expect me to, yet the question I kept asking myself over the years still remains unanswered.

Who is SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth?

I no longer take orders from Masumi; we are comrades now, perhaps, even friends. I am no longer treated as everyone else, no longer need to salute in the corridors and freeze in the presence of my instructors. I am a SOLDIER now, yet am I only and simply a soldier?

I peer at myself, I touch my reflection in the mirror, trace the fine contours of a pale face on the other side of the glass with gloved fingers, but the answer eludes me with persistence even obstinate Genesis would have envied.

My fist clenches involuntarily as there is something still… missing, and it almost looks like a dark crack in my reflection.

With an exasperated sigh I swiftly move away, once again compelled to accept I will have to look again, later.

_Later._

The thought brings no inner satisfaction.

My katana obediently and silently waits for me until I pick it up and strap to the back. The sword is short, I feel it while training, while killing, and every time I wield it, I keep reminding myself I need to request another one with a longer and better blade. Angeal's parents ordered a sword for him in Banora, and as for Genesis, he always remained a mystery. Likely, he'd one day show up with a new weapon, and never utter a single word about where he had gotten his pride.

I smirk to myself. It is impossible not to, especially if the said friend is waiting for me in the hallway, carrying his usual relaxed posture with elegance, and every time I see him leaning against the white wall, the way he crosses his legs and arms, it is different. The bedazzling smile he greets me with is the warmest thing I have ever seen. The redhead means a lot to me as he is one of the two people I consider true friends, and I know it is reciprocal although at times he cares for me in his own strange way.

I never sought many friends as I saw no need to share myself with many, but nevertheless I have never been shy. Until I met Angeal and Genesis, I did not realize how much I differed from my peers, yet the desire to be like everyone else is absent in me, likely, since I don't know what most people imply by that or because I learned to love myself for who I am.

Genesis' uniform mirrors mine to the tiniest details, from the sleeveless turtleneck and leather stripes crossed on the chest to black SOLDIER pants.

"I thought we'd go celebrate, Sephiroth, and have some fun before the President decides to make the best of our promotion."

My answer is an absent-minded gesture. Genesis' notion of fun involves sneaking into the training facility in the Fifth Mako reactor, and although I admit such thought would have most likely never crossed my mind, I enjoy our time thereat.

"Will Angeal be joining us?"

The redhead softly snorts, "He is already waiting. Among the three of us, it is you who needs a _personal_ invitation."

The mockery is light, lacking the strong acerbic tinge, and I am willing to dismiss it with a chuckle. Yet, it is Genesis, after all, so it is hard to abstain from responding in an equally teasing manner, "You could have just called me."

To my surprise the answer is, "I did."

With disbelief I take the phone out of my pocket, flip it open to see three missed calls, one from Angeal, the other two from my redheaded friend. When did I miss them?

"I see," I admit my little defeat with a faint smile and gesture to the end of the hallway.

The elevator takes us downstairs to the vast Shin-Ra entrance hall which is always crowded with people, some being the company's personnel, others – gapers or cadets. The doors to the first floor of the headquarters are opened to anyone willing to try and join the SOLDIER program. I was never offered that choice. The thought keeps returning to me even as my gaze absently slides along various faces and finds a group of the Thirds standing aloof. Once I was a Third, too.

As we make our way towards the exit doors, our black uniforms haughtily stand out like dark spots on the variegated linen. Upon seeing us, cadets and lower ranking SOLDIERS salute, and I accept the honours with innate dignity. It will be a lot easier to get used to my new title than I first thought. My eyes meet Genesis', and I see the reflection of the same content. The clamour follows our steps; among it I discern an awed, "Gaia, they are First Class SOLDIERs. Can you imagine being one?" and without looking I can tell that Genesis is smirking. The redhead always had a weakness for glory and attention.

When we go past the glass doors adorned with Shin-Ra logos, Midgar greets us with dim, neon-lit streets hidden under the plates sunlight never penetrates. They are nonetheless busy, especially near the Shin-Ra headquarters, and their polished greenness was all I have ever remembered before becoming a SOLDIER.

As we walk towards the Fifth sector, I regard them with no particular emotions. My childhood memories of Midgar lack warmth Angeal's and Genesis' reminiscences share about Banora.

"You seem thoughtful," the redhead turns, speaking with slightly raised voice to drown the ebullient roar of car engines.

I nod reservedly, and thereupon we continue walking in silence.

At times I prefer silence.

…The bulk of the Fifth mako reactor appears before my eyes after a short walk, towering above the dark streets of Midgar in an eerily-greenish halo. The neon street lamps blink, casting quivering shadows onto the pavement. It is much quieter around the reactor itself than it is in the central areas and, aside from an occasional passer-by, we are alone.

Angeal waits for us inside in the heart of tortuous interweaving of steel staircases and pipes. The green mako substance slowly boils and swirls below, its power so blatantly exposed to my eyes that I regard it with fascination of sorts. Running in my veins, it is what makes me a SOLDIER, gives me abilities to conquer and dominate. That and my own will.

Descending, I absently run my hand over the seemingly brittle line of the handrail.

"I thought you'd never come."

Angeal's face is serious, however, sparks of mirth in his steel-blues eyes are hard to miss.

"Angeal," I greet my older friend calmly, as though the previous replica didn't apply to me.

I've known Genesis and him for over two years now, yet I cannot say that the merit of starting our friendship belongs to me. We met shortly before the beginning of the Second Class program, and it took me time to accept them as a part my life. With me it never happens easily.

"It is all Sephiroth's fault."

Genesis' words help me out of the reverie, and I sigh. At times the redhead is insufferable, and yet today Angeal is on my side.

"I think it will be fair if Sephiroth gets to choose where to go."

Genesis has already made himself comfortable, having gracefully leaned against the railings. "Why?" The demand in his voice is obvious, and he stubbornly throws his head back to accentuate it. His silver earring momentarily flares as a little emerald spark in the greenish light.

"Sephiroth got his title first." Angeal replies simply, and I smile, for my older friend always cared about fairness, yet that I cannot say of the redhead. The latter frowns, casually and slowly running his hand through his rich auburn hair, another gesture that is like second Genesis.

"Why do you care so much about him being the first?"

There is something underneath the smooth flow of my friend's voice I do not quite like, so to end the pointless conversation, I simply choose, "Let it be Costa-del-Sol."

Having picked up the simulators, I head for the first door and slip inside a small control room. An artificial world is something like an illusion, an ingenious design of Shin-Ra scientists, a holographic projection of the place thrown over the unpretentious surroundings much like a veil. With a few precise keystrokes I initiate a program I need and type in the settings and properties. I wouldn't want monsters or other troubles Shin-Ra scientists have prepared for SOLDIERs interrupt our relaxing pastime.

The world before my eyes quivers as I hear Genesis and Angeal join me, and in an unnoticeable instant I involuntarily shield my eyes with my hand so bright the gushing sunlight is after the dimness of the reactor rooms. Dancing on the murmuring waves, on the white sand, there are bright specks, a sight I naturally find pleasant.

The feeling is like freedom.

I choose a first beach chair to my right and stretch myself, having crossed my arms under my head and closed my eyes. The sun does not give out warmth, the sea is not real; it is just an illusion before my eyes, a pleasant motley wrapping to conceal the ugliness of reality. In it I find bitter irony, for during the last two years I've been disillusioned in so many ways, disappointed, and at times even discouraged.

"Have you heard recent rumours about the skirmish on the border with Wutai?" I ask my friends. The news has been around Shin-Ra headquarters for a while, yet it was nothing but a harmless talk. We haven't been informed of the details, so I believed it to be rather unimportant.

Apparently, Genesis did, too. "How about a rumour of Lazard being an illegitimate son of President Shin-Ra?"

I turn to watch his face, disbelief mirrored on mine, and cannot restrain a scoff, "You listen to _such_ rumours," which immediately provokes a defensive retort.

"It is better than to sit at your workplace all day and pay no heed to the outside world."

I ignore the reproof as Angeal replies instead of me, "You are not supposed to like your duty all the time, Genesis."

"Fine," the redhead's voice doesn't lack arrogance, "be it your way. Talk about duty. When you're done, wake me up."

Yes, Genesis could be insufferable, yet preponderance is on our side, and he finally accepts it with a defeated sigh.

"Veld alleges a small detachment of Wutai troopers crossed the waters on the border with our lands and attacked one of our outposts without warning." Angeal raises himself on the beach chair. "I have no idea why they would want to stir up the hornet's nest."

"If it was something serious, the whole SOLDIER department would be astir." I absently twiddle a long silver lock, twining it around my finger and letting it uncurl thereafter. "It is its defences Shin-Ra was never negligent of."

"Maybe, they got bored." The redhead surmises in a tone that suggests no seriousness whatsoever. "Can you imagine sitting in one place all day long for years? I would probably go insane and do something even worse than attacking an outpost of the almighty Shin-Ra."

'_That being what_?' I silently wonder, and, having exchanged quick glances with Angeal, laugh, for Genesis has his way of winning nonetheless.

The austere tone of our talk is soon forgotten, and we engage into meaningless discussions, a leisured pastime that became our habit a long time ago. For most of the times I am listening, and Genesis or Angeal are telling stories from their childhood.

However, this time we don't get to enjoy ourselves long enough to even start an interesting conversation. Suddenly my phone vibrates and beeps. I take it out of the pocket, flip it open and frown at once. Both of my friends glance at me, and I know the redhead isn't going to like what the message said.

"It is Lazard," I state in a level voice, "we should be getting back."

As I thought, Genesis rises with a derisive grimace on his lips.

"So much for celebration without duty."

* * *

When I finally get back to my quarters, it is already late, and the Shin-Ra building is dark and lifeless. The white halls are empty, and on my way from the elevator to the unremarkable door, one of many akin to each other as twins, I do not meet a single soul.

After a brief talk with Lazard and a debilitating training session, I feel tired, but Hojo asserts that with the newest mako injections it shall become less and less of a problem. I do not know what to think of his words, whether to believe them or not, like I used to, so I simply leave the matter unquestioned for now. I still see that monster in front of my eyes, and Masumi's words ring clearly in my head, words that created a small crack in the heretofore unbreakable faith I had in Shin-Ra. Although I didn't have the chance to find out more about the scientists' creations, I feel they are hiding something from us.

The card slides into the slit with a beep, and once the door opens, I turn the light on and quickly throw off the outerwear.

I am home, or at least in a place I have called one for a very long time.

I cannot say I like or dislike it, rather that I got used to living here. The rooms still look very much the same as when I first saw them, for it is not in my habit to acquire personal possessions beyond necessity.

Today I am too tired to read or watch what is going on in Midgar, so I take a quick shower and slip into my bed, yet the much desired slumber doesn't come. Shadows of memories I possess, despite being young, overpower even fatigue, and soon I am left with a kaleidoscope of images my past begets in quiescence.

I absently run my fingers over the pillow, as though brushing off dust, watch intricate patterns of neon light quiver on the soft whiteness, but my thoughts are elsewhere.

It isn't easy to accept the sentence that I am an orphan, that my mother died giving birth to me, and all I now have is her name, Jenova. Although I don't feel as bitter as if I was abandoned, I wish I could meet her before she, even if unwittingly, left me. I often imagine she had my silver hair, and that picture, delicate and ghostly as a lacy veil, brings inner calm even if lacks warmth of the real mother's touch and voice.

The only person I knew and cherished as father didn't linger either; Professor Gast lived long enough to teach me much and earn my respect, yet disappeared before I joined the SOLDIER program, and, however little I know of his posterior fate, I feel he died.

It seemed I attracted death, and after I was compelled to take my first life, I could no longer see the world around me as a child. The realisation of how brittle our existence is made me grow up fast, yet it wasn't until I met my peers that I finally grasped that difference. Of all cadets I encountered, Angeal and Genesis were the only ones I found something in common with, and their lots weren't that easy either.

I cannot say I regret much about my past, for it eventually shaped me into who I am now, but there are certain things I wish went differently.

One of them is having Hojo as my - I cannot even call him father, rather an overseer, a lab rat appointed to look after me. I would rather be alone.

In darkness I lie and remember.

_...The lab is cold and flooded with white neon light, which makes it hard to look at sparkling steel of several cylinders that surround a device akin to a huge transparent capsule. Dark-green liquid slowly boils inside, and Hojo in a white smock stands therebeside, from time to time inputting new settings into his computer and making notes as the contents change color to nearly refulgent emerald._

_I watch the experiment on mako with indifference; something similar occurs before my eyes nearly every day._

_"Do you know the difference between humans and animals, Sephiroth?"I raise my eyes, surprised at sudden words, as most of the time Hojo simply ignores me. My _father _is not looking at me, and it seems he is talking to the sheet of paper he is holding in his hands and scribbling on from time to time. I shrug, feeling no desire to give him any answer, not that Hojo even notices my reluctance. It seems he draws twisted satisfaction from the sense of self-importance as he goes on uninterrupted. "Animals lack free will, which makes them a lot more attractive as specimen for study. Free will is one of our worst traits, for most of us don't deserve to be gifted with it. Do you understand why, Sephiroth?"_

_The sound that escapes my lips resembles a scoff; why, a Professor, deciding who should be bestowed with gifts and who should be derelict, is amusing, yet certainly not worthy to argue with. Free will is one of the few things they will never take away from me._

_I know he will laugh __at my words and call me a naïve child, who yet has to grow up. Proving my point is useless, and I restrain myself from saying anything, even if with much ado._

_They never had much in common, Hojo and Professor Gast; in a way my so-called _father _thought and acted I always saw hidden complexes and insecurities he could not deal with over the years._

_And __I do not learn from those I despise..._

* * *

The next morning finds me in the assembly room whereto I was exigently called by Tseng, the young, yet promising member of the Turks mentored by Veld himself, of whom I hold high opinion.

For Shin-Ra the Turks perform various duties SOLDIERs would not bother sullying their hands with, like espionage and secret assassinations. While we battle on the frontiers, the Turks are called to undermine the enemy's strength from the rear by severing the supply lines and sabotaging the assistance. To seek young recruits is also a part of their obligations.

The assembly room presents premises divided into two halves with a glass shield, transparent to those who sit on my side. One of the younger Turks calls the youths in pairs, asks them to perform basic routines, and it is up to us to decide whether the recruit becomes a cadet. My opinion is highly valued by Masumi and other Firsts after I made some apt choices in the past.

At first, I see nothing that attracts my attention, for I am always looking for someone special, someone, who will stand out against everyone else, like a pearl among empty shells. That is why I am called here.

The first rounds are disappointing, as the recruits cannot even properly hold a sword. I am almost ready to admit this is a waste of time, when a boy with unruly black hair in the third round catches my attention at once, and it is not just the grace he moves with, but vivacity that seems to follow him around. Before the fight begins, he flashes a bright smile at the glass wall, as though he knows we are sitting herein, watching him.

It doesn't take the raven-haired youth too long to set the tip of his sword against his opponent's throat. I lean forward, eyes riveted on the youth's slender frame alone, as his smaller rival is of no interest to me.

"What is his name?" I ponder over what I've just seen as Tseng, having raked over the papers, indulges my curiosity.

"Zachary Fair. The recruiter found him at his home town… Gongaga it is, I believe. "

Zack Fair, I think to myself, if you make it into SOLDIER program, one day you will become a valuable supplement to Shin-Ra Electric Company.

"I believe we should take him." I finally make my judgement known, and to my satisfaction I hear no objections from anyone present. Of all cadets I've seen so far, this raven-haired boy definitely deserves a chance.

A message interrupts the initiation ceremony; I look at the screen of my phone, yet before I even read its contents, the Director's name strikes my eyes.

Having apologized, I formally take my leave only to find Genesis and Angeal waiting for me by the door. We exchange curious glances.

It seems Lazard had taken a habit of calling us to his office far too often.

...The Director's office is immaculate as is Lazard's light blue suit. I am used to noticing the tiniest details of the surroundings, not due to my innate curiosity, but because any trifle can become crucial in battle. Having risen from the chair behind the desk, he greets each one of us separately and offers a seat, intently watching us above the rim of his glasses as we take up on his offer. For some reasons I recall Genesis' words about our Director being the President's illegitimate son, and smirk although hide it, having declined my head on my chest.

"Heidegger requested your presence at the official opening ceremony held today in the evening." Lazard begins, having flashed a professionally confident smile at me. "As you might have heard, a new director has been appointed to our department of weapons development, and Heidegger believes it will be highly advisable for the young representatives of our elite to be present there."

I frown, but make the expression of my disappointment unnoticeable. I am not a person who enjoys crowds and noisy public medleys such events always draw to the Shin-Ra headquarters. I am certain we are to expect the Midgar mayor and the whole board of directors to be present as the appearance of new First Class SOLDIERs has always created much ado about nothing. The ostentatious ceremonies serve one purpose, and it is to increase the popularity of Shin-Ra Electric Company, something I always cared little about. That and the vanity of personal glory.

Genesis lazily and quite insolently taps his fingers on the Director's desk, earning a piercing glance of pale-blue eyes he nonetheless meets and sustains calmly.

"Here are the invitations."

I hold out my hand for the tickets printed on the white and red glossy paper; each of them has one of our names on it.

"What will be expected from us?"

Lazard pauses before responding to Angeal's question. "I think Heidegger mentioned your appearance only, but as any first emergence in public, don't take it lightly. There will be those who will want to ask you questions."

"I hope they are not going to inquire about my family in Banora."

The Director readjusts the rim of his glasses with his index finger, "And that, too, Genesis," to which the redhead replies with a clearly annoyed grimace.

I know that both of my friends have difficulties with their families, and while for Angeal it is simply the issue of penury, Genesis' full story is still a mystery to me.

"We will be there," I rise and head for the door, my friends not far behind. Lazard's words overtake us on the threshold to his office.

"Ah, I forgot something. You are expected to appear in a… more formal attire."

I hear Genesis murmur something like, "Certainly, Director," and cannot abstain from a light smirk at the sound of the redhead's voice, so velvety smooth it is, yet so much defiance is hidden underneath.

* * *

"So… what do you think?"

Genesis looks at me, after a moment of thoughtful contemplation having concluded, "You look awful, Sephiroth," and his straightforward answer mirrors my own. Slightly annoyed, I untangle the tie and cast it away, watching as it lands onto the leather armchair and curls on the whiteness as a snake. In the black suit and a light blue shirt I feel uncomfortable, resembling a laughingstock to my keen eyes, and the realisation leaves me greatly dissatisfied. I would rather wear my uniform, yet have to obey the rules I did not set or understand.

Feeling helpless, I fall into the armchair by the tall mirror and watch my redheaded friend adroitly tie the dark ribbon, azure eyes fixed on his own reflection. On the contrary, Genesis looks elegant, and the suit fits him naturally as would anything, I believe.

"You are not being helpful, Genesis," Angeal's voice rings from the next room, having provoked a light chuckle from that ever so eloquent and at times acerbic redhead. He clearly admires himself and his integrity in any embodiment, a SOLDIER or a beau, the endearing quality I lack.

"Sephiroth will look pretty even as a scarecrow. So, why bother, I say?"

I frown, once again left with nothing but wonder whether Genesis has been mocking me in that deceptively sweet, singing voice.

Angeal appears from the room, smoothing the cuffs of his shirt, the final details perfecting his already nearly flawless outerwear. He looks at the watch and warns, "We should be going soon."

Having straightened long silver hair and finally adjusted the tie, so that it at least looks decent, I rise with reluctance and make a move to grab my katana.

"They have been training you too much." Having noticed my involuntary gesture, Angeal remarks with his usual calm seriousness, and I chuckle.

"So it seems."

When we get to the fiftieth floor whereat the ceremony is being held, the great event has already started. The invitations Lazard has previously given me let us past the security, and we enter the enormous premises to the deafening sound of applause that followed the President's opening speech.

The ceremonial hall is crowded with the most influential and powerful men in Midgar. As we go by, or rather elbow our way through the throng, I catch glimpses of vaguely familiar faces of the Directors of numerous Shin-Ra departments as well as other official representatives, like Midgar's mayor and his wife. After the speech has been delivered, clamour slowly arises on every side, like tall ocean wave, laughter, murmurs and vivacious replicas blending into the muffled buzz. Here and there the greenish semi-darkness is pierced with a short lightning of a camera flash, illumining faceless shadows.

What are we doing here, I ask myself, feeling slight awkwardness. Even Genesis, the one always eager for attention, looks ill at ease.

Suddenly I feel someone's gaze, turn around to find myself surrounded by a couple of reporters, red lights of video cameras staring into my face. Angeal and Genesis are immediately shoved back by the curious crowd, and I barely have time to blink and get my breath whenas a microphone appears in front of my face together with a pair of prying eyes.

"This is Sephiroth," the man in a purple suit announces in a sugary voice, 'according to Director Lazard's statement later corroborated by Heidegger himself, one of the youngest and most promising members of the elite SOLDIER department." There is no way for me to avoid answering the question that follows. "When did you join the SOLDIER program?"

"Three years ago," the reply passes my lips without hesitation. A dazzling white flash blinds my sensitive eyes, and for a moment all I can see are iridescent spots instead of faces. I absently wonder when the torment will be over.

"Only three years ago? This is remarkable." The smile on the garrulous man's face is professionally lifeless. "What makes your experience with Shin-Ra valuable?"

'_Killing,'_ I wish to snap, my eyes sweeping the news reporter in front of me with icy disdain, and I know whereof I speak, yet do not let my feelings show as to the video camera I say what is expected of me.

"Performing my duties."

"An excellent response, thank you," the camera finally moves away, yet I can still hear, "that was Sephiroth, our hope and future, live on channel eleven Midgar news, and I…"

The sickly-sweet voice disappears in the crowd to hunt for another victim, and I can close my eyes to get rid of motley circles begotten by bright flashes. Genesis and Angeal are nowhere to be found and, alone, I aimlessly continue to make my way through the crowd in the general direction of what might be an end of the hall, at the same time trying to avoid other reporters lurking around as predators. Suddenly I am glad that it's dark, for the smirk on my lips lacks warmth.

Before it is mayor's turn to make a speech, I find the redhead in a more or less cosy corner of the large hall near the stage. Genesis looks gleeful, and it doesn't take much to realise that he had his share of attention as well.

"Have you seen Angeal?" I elevate my voice to drown the round of greeting applause. My friend shakes his auburn head.

"I lost him before the interview. Can you imagine," he dramatically flings his arms up, "they called me their hope and future?"

Yes, I can imagine that, and with a smirk I lean against the wall, arms and legs crossed, facing the crowd.

Slowly the murmur dies out, fades to occasional whisper I hear only with my acute ears, and the mayor of Midgar, a rather burly man in his late forties, begins his speech. I am not listening, for I know what he is going to say, and that is what everyone expects to hear from him. Genesis doesn't seem to be any more eager to listen to the politician than me. His fingers gently, as though unwittingly, brush against the back of my palm, and instead of raising his voice, he draws near and whispers, "It is getting awfully hot here. Let's take a breath of fresh air."

I follow the redhead to the narrow door that leads to the nearly empty terrace wherefrom slow music is heard. I am thinking about the strange concurrence of circumstances that let the three of us, so similar in many ways, meet.

For that, I believe, I shall always be grateful to Shin-Ra.

On the next morning I wake up in the helicopter that is taking me to Cosmo Canyon. SOLDIER life is unpredictable, it requires performance beyond the call of duty, yet I have known no other.


	3. Chapter II

_**A/N: **_Phew… My muse decided to take a nap. XD Ah, well…

* * *

_Chapter II._

I often ask myself whence I have such power, a deadly combination of strength and speed that lets me win the hardest and the most hopeless of battles. In the waterfall of wan neon light that cascades upon me from the ceiling, I stand, looking at my right hand gloved in black leather, and do not even bother to brush off short silver locks scattered on my forehead although they are clouding my vision. My left rests by my side with the handle of the short katana clenched in it, the blade silently waiting to be used.

My desire is to think this power came as a result of my arduous training, yet as I regard the room in front of me and the hulks of dead monsters underneath my feet, the question does not leave me. A shadow of doubt lingers even when I slowly move, still oblivious of the surroundings, aside from my long, thin fingers and specks of neon dancing on the glossy leather.

They do not let me think for too long.

The monster leaps out of thin air, followed by three or four of its likes; the holographic, yet not so different from real, beasts gracefully land in a circle around me, their gazes avid and hunger all-consuming.

I wait, quiescent – that being a mastery of my own fears and feelings I gained over the years – until the first monster jumps, having described a dark arc in the bright-neon coldness; thereat I thrust my left arm forward and slightly aloft to impale the dark shadow, which is not more than a flicker in the corner of my eyes. With everyday training my movements are perfected to nearly subconscious, and I do not necessarily need to be aware of every single detail.

I pivot on my heels abruptly; my katana flies up to meet the pliant body in the jump, like small silver lightning, cuts through dark fur and skin and, having flitted before my eyes, finishes the semicircle mere inches from my shoulder. One monster escapes the carnage, how I do not see, as my hand instinctively thrusts the blade into the furry chest, and, having stepped to the left, I tear my katana free, spilling dark droplets in a thin trail all around me.

The monsters are illusory as is their blood.

I barely have time to take a deep breath and brush the wave of silver from my chest before the gates at the furthest end of the room open, and more monsters spring therefrom. This time I attack first in the blur of swift blows and turns; laterally it might look as though I cut through the dark stream of water so many of those beasts appeared out of the opening in the wall. The battle swallows me whole, leaving no room for idle thoughts or guesses; only the perfected sequence of motions matters while time with silver glimmer of my blade seeps through my fingers. I finish the round in a maelstrom of slashes, which create a nearly impenetrable barrier around me, and when the last body lands with a heavy thud, I am quiescent anew.

Monsters lie around me in a dark circle, and my chest heaves faster, that being all signs of a struggle that would have been deadly for any normal adult.

I do not wish to think the same of a regular SOLDIER.

"Training session is over." I hear the same dispassionate voice that has been announcing the end of my classes for years and absently wipe a thin streamlet of sweat I feel trickling down my neck. I know Hojo is watching, I can almost feel his biting gaze through the opaque glass wall, and thereupon wonder if he terminated the mission in case I failed to deal with the monsters. I cannot be absolutely sure.

Thus, I do not allow myself many failures.

By the exit door I slowly look over my shoulder, and the thought that occurs to me, as my gaze slides along the pile of nearly transparent bodies, is far from pleasant.

Such power is almost… inhuman.

* * *

I've been around the main Shin-Ra building since the very first conscious memory of myself and, whereas of earlier years I do not remember much, the later events left a clear trail in my recollections. Until recently, Shin-Ra used to be a rather small company, whose main purpose was to focus on weapon production, yet after the President and the department of science found a way to channel Lifestream, the knowledge of the dead, through reactors and crystallize it into materia, the company underwent a rapid growth. At the same time many projects, like space exploration program, were abandoned in favour of experimenting with mako substance.

I remember it as I watch a small rather stout man approaching me in the hallway. Although he is known as dignified and educated, it is hard to take Palmer seriously all the time. I am proven right when the said man suddenly halts a couple of steps away from me and winks.

"Ah, Sephiroth, I am glad I met you. Scarlet asked you to go over some projects of new weapons, a quick wit she is. Hasn't been around for long, and already has these numerous projects."

I have no objections, more so since I do like his company at times, his slightly childish manners and verbosity notwithstanding.

Unlike the office of the SOLDIER director, Palmer's is much smaller and lacks sense of impersonality, likely, since the dominating colors are light blue and brown.

The formality of atmosphere is also a feature my visits to Palmer lack. He gestures towards a deep comfortable armchair and, while I am settling down, offers me a cup of steaming tea. I place it on the table and patiently wait until Palmer fills his, having lavishly put sugar in it thereafter. I cannot abstain from smirking, for the man in front of me is known for his love of sugar, however remain silent. I rarely speak first, especially when I don't know whereof to speak.

"I heard you were invited for the ceremony of Scarlet's appointment." He suddenly says, and his words are of the kind I did not expect. I take a sip from the cup, watching director of space department through thin streamlets of vapour. The taste is as bitter as is the look on Palmer's face; he clearly doesn't need my response, so I confine myself to a curt nod. "I watched it on TV; the President forgot to invite me. After he has cut my funding, I do not find anything surprising, yet the years I devoted to the space exploration on his behalf are hard to put behind."

Palmer is bitter about his program being nearly abandoned for the studies of Lifestream, and he doesn't even try to hide it. I lean on the back of the leather armchair, legs crossed, and under my piercing gaze Palmer finally rummages through the ream, having retrieved a folder with two or three drawings in it. I do not mean to be cold, but there is hardly anything I can add to his complaints. I do not know how it feels, to become a memory of once starlight glory, and I am sure I never want to.

The cup is nearly empty, when the bald director hands me those projects, "Here you go, Sephiroth. You don't have to look at them right now. Scarlet expects these tomorrow afternoon."

The drawings are neatly done, yet nearly unnoticeably betray slight ignorance of the author. Or should I use a more scientific term, incompetence? Hojo got angry every time I used unscientific definition, and although his opinion is of little importance to me, speaking - and even thinking – in an official manner is the habit instilled into my consciousness. That Genesis often laughs at.

If I am in the mood to bear his acerbity.

"I appreciate the tea," I rise to end the visit, during which I remained silent, however director's words once again take me by surprise.

"What do you think of these newest mako experiments?"

I shrug, for I think of many things I never confide anyone in, perhaps, only those closest to me.

"We will see," I allow a rather obscure, yet with no recondite meaning behind it, excuse followed by the thinnest of all smiles. "You have to give a new idea a chance to prove itself useful."

"Fair enough," he laughs, yet the laugh is strained. I frown. Mako holds the knowledge and wisdom of the dead, and knowledge is endless… or so they say. "But mark my words, Sephiroth, these mako experimentations are not going to end well." Palmer holds the door as I leave the office, slightly concerned with his last words. "Such matters never end peacefully."

* * *

When I return Scarlet her weapons' designs late next morning, she doesn't look pleased, but I am not there to please her. In my opinion, women shouldn't be dealing with cannons and guns, and even though the President appointed her, I shall not respect the new director of Weapons' Development department until absolutely certain she is valuable.

As of now, I am not convinced she is.

After handling that quite disappointing matter, I head for the SOLDIER canteen whereat I run into Angeal. He sits at the table alone and, having bought my usual lunch, I join him. Aside from the two of us, the room is nearly empty, with just another pair of curious Third classes who are shooting glances in our direction from time to time.

The thought that I am a First Class SOLDIER seems as natural as the looks on the cadet's faces, their awe and reverence, their faint whispers.

As I slide the tray of food onto the table, Angeal's eyebrows quirk up, and he puts the fork down.

"Humph, Sephiroth, you always eat the same food. Don't you ever get tired?"

I shake my head, unable to suppress all signs of mirth, and move the chair closer to the narrow table. One of my long silver locks gets caught in the chink, and it takes me a couple of moments to free it thereout.

Although it happens quite often, the nuisance of growing my hair long never outweighs the pride I take in keeping it almost immaculate, almost, for perfection, as much I desire it, is unattainable.

"You sound like Genesis," I finally reply, picking up my silverware with perfect calm. "By the way, where is he?"

Angeal gives me a significant look, as though by that trying to tell something I should have already guessed on my own.

"As if you don't know Genesis." Is it supposed to mean anything important? "He is in Midgar, and if he doesn't come back in…" Angeal casts a quick glance at the huge clock on the wall, "ten minutes, he'll be late for our weekly appointment with Hollander."

Somehow I don't find my older friend's words a surprise. "What is he doing in Midgar?"

Angeal swallows the rest of his meal, puts the empty plate aside, and rests his steel-blue eyes on me, his gaze more studying than bewildered. "It's either you don't know or you don't remember; only I can hardly believe you forgot something like that. He has a girl there; I can't recall her name, for it's his… third one, and I think he finds them merely for keeping himself entertained." I don't know why he adds the next words, since I don't think my expression changed. "It's nothing serious."

Now I recall Genesis' words, but – as anything that concerns relationships – am not amazed they didn't linger in my memory. I understand why people have them, however, being brought up in isolation, can hardly share a traditional view on them, and by traditional I imply customs instilled in society over ages.

One of the differences in our opinions includes why one would want to have many women, or why they have to be necessarily women.

"I don't expect it to be." Yet, I cannot look straight into Angeal's eyes while speaking, and a share of my calm is for unknown reasons lost. How it concerns Genesis, or whether it has anything to do with the redhead in the first place, I do not understand.

Angeal is done eating, and so am I after taking apple juice with salad. It is almost noon, and while I have another training session, Angeal and Genesis are supposed to attend mako treatments at Hollander's lab. Hollander to them is like Hojo to me, but I, only having briefly met the doctor, hope he is a better and a more experienced scientist than my _father_.

"How about we stop by your quarters later in the evening?" Angeal inquires, and I nod, already taking the right turn. Before my friend disappears around the corner, I swear I hear a chuckle.

Indeed, I am different, not like others, and why, instead of being proud of my individuality, one may expect me to abandon it, I cannot understand as well.

* * *

Two days after my conversation with Palmer I am sent to Gongaga on a mission that augurs no good. I am told of the reactor malfunctioning that needs investigation, since the facility has been finished only a month or so ago, and unforeseen failures naturally arouse suspicion. Whereas I am not to expect anything more serious than an equipment misuse, I cannot help but remember Palmer's words.

Genesis was sent with me, and I certainly welcome his company, my own pleasure mirrored in the laughing azure eyes that meet mine as he extends his arm to help me get into the helicopter. He even looks mischievous, and I feel like I've missed something.

Under my piercing gaze the redhead stretches himself, having tilted his head back and set his high-heeled boots against the empty seat in front. While all of us wear regular SOLDIER outerwear, he cannot abstain from standing out, however little the detail would be.

The earring which faintly clangs with every abrupt movement is another of those details.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Genesis finally acknowledges my slightly puzzled glance. "It feels good to get out of Midgar once in a while, you know. The dullness of its streets and landscape can get tiresome; fortunately, I didn't spend nearly all my days under its sunless skies."

I turn to the window I am sitting by and, watching the motley squares flash underneath, calmly advert to the obvious. "I wasn't offered any choice."

The redhead shifts uncomfortably by my side, and I have to strain my ears to discern his words in the noise of the airscrew, "I keep forgetting that. I am… sorry…"

"There is nothing to apologize for." There really was nothing, for with my life one learns to pay no heed to such trifles or to regret sacrificing what is enjoyable for what is necessary. I meet Genesis' eyes and, having suddenly remembered Angeal's words, inquisitively ask with a taunting glint in my eyes. "How was your visit to Midgar the other day?"

My friend looks slightly bewildered, and, almost certain his cheeks had turned a shade redder, I look up and smile.

I rarely smile, yet in Genesis' presence I learned not to restrain myself as much as I do around others.

…We arrive at Gongaga when the day is in its wane. The scene revealed before my eyes as I step out of the helicopter is unlike anything I have ever seen before, the beauty of the golden from wheat fields endless and freedom of murrey-misted skies unfathomable. I cannot say I am very sentimental about such things, yet when it comes to the miracles of nature and Planet's gifts, my appreciation is profound, more so since I've been denied them for quite a while.

Genesis touches my elbow, having helped me out of the strange state of reverie I found myself in, and we both begin to walk down the narrow sand-covered pathway that leads to the village entrance. The scenery changes subtly, fields become tended gardens, scattered trees – apple and peach grooves, and I hardly notice when the crunch of sand grains under my feet becomes the rustle of pebbles.

It appears Shin-Ra has sent the word we were coming, for a small and quite smooth-tongued man meets us by the first houses and, constantly repeating how honoured he is by our arrival, leads us to the small inn. While we walk past the one-storeyed picturesque houses, Genesis keeps glancing at me over the ludicrous man's back, and his mockery is obvious and amusing. I've recently heard the name of the settlement mentioned together with the name of a cadet, yet do not keep such trifles in my head for too long. If this cadet is strong enough to join the SOLDIER program, I'll hear his name with time, if not, so be it.

"You room is on the second floor, the largest and the best one we could find," the man halts by the inn, holding the heavy door open before us as we step into the entrance hall, nearly empty at this hour. The air is fresh and pleasantly cool, unlike the dusty heat of summer outside. "The windows open on the fields, so that you can enjoy the landscapes of Gongaga. If you need anything…"

"We'll ask, rest assured," Genesis interrupts in his sweetly polite voice, and I smile anew at the hidden mockery. The man clearly didn't expect that instead of gratitude, for he blinks in slight bewilderment and freezes in his tracks. Before he decides to follow us, I turn away and, having crossed my arms behind me, speak to the redhead.

"Let's go, Genesis."

"I am surprised Shin-Ra still keeps these…peasants around," he remarks with his usual arrogance whereat the man cannot hear us.

"What about Heidegger?" I ascend the stair with ease, Genesis slightly behind on the narrow staircase. To speak to him I have to turn my head. "Shin-Ra needs a healthy amount of hypocrites to survive. Just as it needs… us." I thoughtfully finish in front of the door the Shin-Ra representative, whose name we forgot to ask, mentioned and extend my hand for the keys Genesis has been playing with.

The room is indeed quite large, with a carpet on the floor and draped windows that give it warm color of the fading sunlight. Two beds and two armchairs conclude the simple, yet a much more friendly and cosy impression than my quarters in Shin-Ra make.

While Genesis is taking the shower, I come to stand by the window, rip the curtains aside and thoughtlessly watch dormant nature. I admit I am fine standing like that for hours, likely, a prerogative of the one who truly understands the value of such simple things. Until one has been denied them, the feeling can never be the same.

How long I was standing like that, I do not know. Having heard steps on the carpet behind me, I reluctantly tear my gaze away from the indigo linen of the skies bestrewn with first stars and face a rather dishevelled topless Genesis who is zealously drying his auburn hair with a huge white towel. My eyes involuntarily, I think, for I truly make no conscious effort, slide along the fine line of narrow shoulders and drop lower, having lingered on the slender waist and a towel wrapped around it.

Where do these thoughts come from?

I shake my head to dismiss strange feelings my observations stirred and resolutely unfasten the belt of my black uniform, my gaze finally on Genesis' face. His expression immediately changes into somewhat sheepish and a small smile passes over his lips, the look I find more suitable for a guilty child than a First Class SOLDIER.

"Sorry, Seph, but you cannot take a shower. I've used up all hot water."

I cannot help but chuckle, not annoyed in the slightest, yet, as always, Genesis is hard not to tease. "Humph, next time Angeal is going on the mission with you."

The redhead falls into the armchair and gracefully hurls the towel aside. "Is it really that bad?" Scintilla of mirth sparkles in his azure eyes, deep and warm. "To go on missions with me?"

"If I have to stay dirty all the time, yes, I can hardly call it desirable."

"Next time, I promise, you will be the first to take a shower."

I take a seat in the armchair, my pose a nearly perfect reflection of that of my friend's, and sigh with leniency only Genesis ever gets from me. If it was my subordinate that used up all hot water, I don't think I would have dismissed the issue that easily.

"You owe me one, Genesis."

"How about I repay you somehow?" The redhead is thoughtful, but it doesn't take too long for him to come up with an answer. "I was thinking about it for a while, to invite you to Banora next time we'll get a short vacation."

"You are not afraid some of your family secrets will be divulged." Perhaps, I shouldn't have said that, for shadow falls over Genesis' face at once, he knits his eyebrows and hides his eyes. For a while we sit in silence, and when he finally speaks, there is a note of estrangement in his voice, "Secrets, secrets… there are no secrets, Seph."

I decide against asking more, inasmuch as I do not wish to pry into matters Genesis is not willing to talk about. When, or rather if, he decides he trusts me enough, I will listen to him, but until then I can patiently wait.

"I shall certainly be more than happy to meet your family."

The redhead's face brightens up at once, "So it's settled then. I hope my apple tree will have dumbapples to share."

Dumbapples. That's how Angeal and Genesis affectionately call their special kind of apples that apparently grows only in Banora. Obviously, I have never tasted the fruit, but the curiosity to try it is there, since if Genesis says they are special, they have to be.

"I always meant to ask… the dumbapples, they are called that way, for the tree can bear fruit randomly, am I correct?" After the nod I continue, "How can you grow something and not know when to expect harvest?"

Genesis looks at me, his eyes a sparkling taunting azure, "Take your shower, Sephiroth. There has to be enough hot water now."

* * *

We arrive at the reactor early next morning. The sight before my eyes, even if adorned with a rainbow, is dully familiar. With mako reactors it is easy – if you've seen at least one, you've seen them all. The rather shapeless bulk of the building towers above the peaceful scenery and even to me seems as though alienated from the rest of the surroundings.

The man that has been our guide the evening before is hastily mincing in front of us. "The malfunctioning is in the second control room," he announces once we are inside and the said control room is to our left. The light immediately dies out, leaving us in greenish semi-darkness. "Mako… well, yes, mako does not crystallize, even after we used extreme temperatures."

"Then why didn't you ask for a technician?" Genesis inquires coldly, looking around the small room with numerous levers and buttons. I know how to operate a reactor although technically am not supposed to, yet certainly not to the level a Shin-Ra scientist would.

"The problem," the man lowers his eyes under the redhead's piercing gaze, "yes, the problem seems external, as if… as if there is something preventing the settings we enter to take effect, and this something," now the staff member's voice is nearly a whisper, "is underneath us."

"A monster?" My question is curt and business like, for I don't like wasting my time for garrulous explanations when there is no need for them.

"Maybe, there is a monster, sir. We decided against taking any risks, you know… anything can happen."

I nod, thinking of different possibilities, "Where is the entrance to the basement or to the caverns underneath the reactor?"

The man rummages in his pocket until a bunch of keys appears in his hand, whereupon he opens an imperceptible door at the back of the control room. Faint wind that blows into our faces carries an unmistakably acrid smell of raw mako.

"After you," Genesis gallantly holds the door, and I bare my katana at once, so if we really have to face a monster, which I find quite unlikely to be honest, I will not have to waste time. The long staircase takes us to another door, heavily armoured this time, and with a little effort it yields to my push and I leave it ajar. Behind me Genesis hisses, having missed a step because of his usual carelessness and not the reining semi-darkness. Mako-enhanced sight lets us discern the ambience even if there is no light at all.

We proceed to the caves in silence, not even our steps heard in the narrow hallway. The air becomes colder, and soon I begin to see faint clouds of vapour escaping my lips with each breath, yet due to the same mako I am resistant to temperature changes.

The caves have the same almost glowing green tinge to them emanated from the walls, and in it small icicles on the pipes sparkle, like emeralds. To enter a larger cavern I have to stoop, holding my hair not to let it fall into my face and hinder my sight, yet all I can see are decussating pipes, from steel or transparent materials, and green mako substance slowly coursing through the veins of the reactor above us. If there is a problem, it cannot be a monster and, apparently, it isn't in these caves.

Genesis slips through the hole and, hemming, carefully examines each pipe, yet finds nothing as I couldn't moments ago.

"I think we're wasting our time here."

That I cannot disagree with, yet take a closer look at the widest pipe one more time and finally notice the source of the malfunctioning, a little flaw that stopped the operational reactor.

"Look, Genesis," I gesture towards the chink in it, filled with ice that looks like a faintly glistening fringe.

For a moment the redhead stands with his head tilted upwards, frozen, then his ringing laughter fills the small cave, his mirth so genuine I can only join in.

"Can you believe they called us here because of something so trifling? I was expecting a good fight, and all I see is… this nuisance a woman with a broom could have dealt with."

To that I shake my head in equal disbelief. At least the journey was pleasant, so I cannot really complain about anything.

As we set off towards the exit, I think that SOLDIER life is not just unpredictable in an unpleasant way, and at times duty can bring satisfaction, even if I know I have done nothing to earn it.


	4. Chapter III

_**A/N: **_My thanks to everyone, especially to SephyRocks, since I cannot say it otherwise. Writing this fic is so much fun although referring to Seph as 'I' at times feels weird. :D

* * *

_Chapter III._

"Sephiroth, Sir, I prepared a report you asked about yesterday. Shall I proceed at once?"

A SOLDIER stands before me at attention, expression blank, but my glance does not linger on a face that could not belong to a youth more than a year or thereby younger than myself. Still, unlike me, he has a long way to rise from a Third to a First Class, for in his age I wasn't as callow. With that thought I rest my eyes on the unremarkable spot on my office desk and, having propped my head up with my right hand, with my left draw the form of a report towards myself.

Generally I am a left-hander although in fighting try to switch to ambidextrous style because of obvious advantages.

"You may begin, SOLDIER."

The youth relaxes when dismissed, and a satisfied thought flashes in my mind. To do my work, I always find the most disciplined and responsible assistants although some of the duties end up mine, so to speak, accidentally. Usually a SOLDIER of any calibre wouldn't be dealing with reports on security breaches and malfunctions at mako reactors, but with me Shin-Ra always cheated, trying to put all my extraordinary abilities to use. At times, it feels as though they… test me to see when I fail, the fact that only after being successful with me mako injections have gained such popularity a good enough proof to what merely a year ago was just a guess.

"The reports on the reactors' security showed a surprisingly stable situation this week, Sir," the SOLDIER begins his rather monotonous speech, "and only in Condor there was a minor incident with the equipment failure, which resulted in two casualties…"

Slowly I start taking notes about all regional reactors, including the one whereat I have recently dealt with a malfunction that turned out to be a false alarm. What I can and am supposed to do is finding a pattern of most probable failures that occurred due to unfamiliar properties of mako, if there is one.

The day starts as many others before it, and I don't see any reasons to expect it to end differently.

Once the SOLDIER is finished, I dismiss him entirely, having focused on the computer screen. The data I am inputting produces interesting results and, although it is still too early to expect the pattern to emerge, I wonder what Palmer might say. I am not a scientist, however, feel that complete understanding of what mako is will yield crucial results. Who knows, they might not be as positive as Shin-Ra expects.

I take my eyes off the computer screen only when the door opens to see my redheaded friend slip through the chink. At times, when he has nothing else to do, he visits me, asserting that his goal is to lay aside my tedium, but I cannot say I am bored with most of my tasks. In some I take interest, others simply beget indifference, and I do them because I have to, yet not without a certain questioning. Performing my duties for Shin-Ra mindlessly is not what even the President can expect from me, for I am not a puppet.

"What do they make you do now, Sephiroth?" The redhead gracefully skirts the table, then my chair and, having bent over the armrest, peers at the screen.

He is so close now that I can count all creases on his sleeveless turtleneck or weightless auburn tresses scattered on smooth skin in the haughty tilt of his head, if such was my desire. Genesis always bears himself with slight arrogance, which in his case I believe is justified. Having been brought up in a noble family, he is well-mannered, at times impressing even me with his exquisite decorum; his education and intelligence are exemplary and yet to be matched by other SOLDIERs, aside from Angeal. That I knew for a while, yet why I began to feel differently in his proximity after that mission to the reactor in Gongaga, or what that nearly unnoticeable difference means, I do not yet understand.

"Nothing that will make your day better, Genesis," I slightly taunt the redhead with enough pride of my own. He draws back, frustrated, all signs of disappointment openly displayed on his face, and that strange feeling disappears as fast as it seized me just an instant ago.

I lean back in my armchair, having folded my arms on my chest, and watch Genesis settle on the edge of my desk. Although I don't like such frivolities, this time he does it without a reproof, likely, since I feel he is expecting one.

"At times, I wonder what we are doing here, at SOLDIER, Sephiroth." Genesis sets his palm on the desk, leans on it, dangling his legs, and, like this, his pose bears nearly feline grace. I let him continue uninterrupted. "After the recruit arrived at Banora and I decided to leave with him to join the Shin-Ra army, I still cannot fully understand what I expected. I knew I wanted to become _somebody_, rather than rot in the backwater village, but to say that I shared Angeal's ideals of honor is to say too much."

I ponder over his words for a moment, my eyes following greenish specks of light that through the window penetrate into my office, lit with neon even in the morning. "Wars beget heroes, Genesis. If it is a hero you want to be, win a hard battle."

"What of you?" The redhead finds my glance and demands with passionate notes in his voice. "Don't you want to be a hero?"

My smile is a bit rueful although I hide it in the corners of my lips, as if unwilling to show, yet in truth I am simply restraining myself from expressing much because old habits die hard.

"I was born a warrior, and being a hero is my destiny. As any sword's predestination is to kill and conquer, so is mine." Or so I think now. "I can only choose my path with a little more free will."

"You speak in such a way, as though everything is already decided." Genesis frowns, however, his pose changes, and I cannot meet his eyes.

"Not at all." I chuckle, wondering whether I did, albeit unintentionally, sound that way. "Yet, for now it is."

Genesis leaps off the desk, impatiently crosses my office, his strides long, sharp, devoid of usual smoothness. "You make everything seem so easy, just like Angeal with his dreams and honor." He throws his head back in an irritated gesture, earring flashing between the blur of scattered auburn tresses as a clear water drop. There are times when he loses his temper easily, unlike me, having succumbed to the powerful maelstrom of emotions that are his second nature.

"I don't understand what answer you are looking for."

He halts in front of my desk, his glance clearly accusatory and slightly mordant, "Between you, who believes in his special predestination, and Angeal, obsessed with his honor, what is my role?"

I don't have time to answer, as we are again interrupted. For once, Genesis' phone rings first, and, when he picks it up with a grimace, I already know that the news is inauspicious. The last doubts disappear when the redhead patters, "We'll be there, Director," and turns to face me, his azure eyes glistening with both excitement and anxiety, as though he has already forgotten about our previous conversation.

"There's been an emergency, Sephiroth. Lazard asked us to come to his office. Exigently."

* * *

When we arrive upon the scene, I immediately understand that this time there will be no false alarms. The solitary village on the sea shore that separates our continent from Wutai resembles a ravaged anthill with a lifeless bulk of a mako reactor towering above the groups of wooden houses and huts. The vesper skies are crimson-tinged lilac, and their reflection quivers on the billowing sea wherefrom the strong wind brings a smell of salty water I sense for the first time in my life. The swishing of waves against the rocky shore is a soothing whisper in my ears, barely heard, yet there all the time since the first moment I set foot on the ground and the noise of helicopter's airscrews fades in the serenity of the evening glow.

To the village of Aichi Lazard allocated two dozens of SOLDIERs and half a hundred, or thereby, regular military personnel. Masumi is in charge of the whole operation and, as the oldest among us, is supposed to make final decisions. I and Genesis are sent with him to get more experience, however, each one of us has subordinates under direct command; so if things are to get very complicated, I can rely on my own intuition which I always trusted more than anyone else's.

Moreover, Veld and two other Turks are assigned to investigate with us. This is the largest operation I have been a part of so far, and mine is a guess that we will quickly get to the very bottom of the incident.

Once the helicopters clear the skies, our two groups split up, each given a separate assignment. Our task is to find out what had happened at the regional reactor while Veld has to observe the general situation and report on the public mood at the village itself.

The initial recourses indicated that the Wutai troops crossed the natural border by helicopters, raided the settlement and disappeared before any of the Shin-Ra military units deployed nearby had the time to react. What caused the skirmish is unclear as is the amount of damage and casualties we suffered.

I exchange meaningful glances with Genesis as we stride side by side, and see the same questions hiding in cerulean eyes, now sparking with excitement.

Why did Wutai attack one of the villages Shin-Ra chose to construct its mako reactor at?

Aichi was built regardless of the advantages nature offered. Whereas the small settlement could have been protected by the cliffs from two sides, only one side of it abuts upon the solid rock that raises its pointed crest to the darkening sky. It looks like a fishing village with small boats disorderly amassed by the shore and houses built on wooden piles to ensure that during the rising tide the whole dwelling would not be flooded. The reactor itself once again stands alienated from the settlement.

We pass through Aichi in silence; the villagers are either too frightened to react to our presence in any other way than simply stare, or I mistook fright for enmity. The small detachment serpentines through narrow streets, Masumi at the head, and I can see his long braid sway in time with his confident strides. As I follow not far behind, my eyes are sliding along the inhabitants dressed in threadbare clothing, and I can't help but recognize a feeling of slight surprise. Their rather vapid style of life is new to behold, as before I rarely thought of penury. In my defence I can only think that, besides poverty, I have never seen luxury either, having felt no need for unnecessary abundance.

"It is so different from Banora," to my left Genesis muses quietly, having tilted his head aloft, as if marvelling at the vastness of mauve welkin. The redhead definitely has a more poetic and refined nature than me, and whereas I mostly appreciate nature, he finds beauty in almost every detail of even quotidian ambience, which I would have disregarded without a second glance. "We always lived off crops we grew and apples we gathered. The land there is lavish, the grass – succulent, and the sun gifts us with its warmth nearly all year. This place is… different although I would have preferred to live here than in Midgar."

I drop my eyes to step over the pile of sand, and when I cast them up, Genesis is no longer thoughtful or dreamy, the change in his mood again so abrupt I am surprised to say the least.

"I would very much like to see your hometown."

He flashes a wry smile at me, "You will, and you will not be disappointed. I have much to show you."

The reactor comes in sight abruptly, when we make a sharp turn, and Masumi stops us at once, having interrupted me before I gave the redhead any answer.

"Be very careful, both of you. This is not an order, this is an advice I can only give you as an older and more experienced SOLDIER. We will split into three groups to complete the investigation faster… if you don't have any objections." He adds when realizes that both of us are no longer his direct subordinates. However, we simply nod, having bared our weapons nearly simultaneously.

"I am taking the left wing," I gesture to the shapeless bulk of the reactor and turn to the auxiliary exit with my small unit. Genesis goes to the right, and Masumi enters through the main doors, his blond hair flickering for the last time before he disappears.

Before opening the doors, I silently gesture for my soldiers to ready their weapons, and, having bowed my head not to hit the door jamb, immerse into familiar greenish semi-darkness. However, I am compelled to stop in my tracks at once, slightly frightened, slightly disgusted, feeling an unfamiliar emptiness spreading in my chest and seizing me, as if protecting.

I have read about slaughter before, I have seen it on the television screen, but when it appears before my eyes for the first time, the realization of difference is stunning. I know how it feels to take a person's life, I had to kill before; I accepted and forgot, or at least tried to, but never heretofore I have seen a massacre. Slaying a human being without a fight is something I have yet to experience and I am not sure I want to, however little the hope is that I will never have to. The Wutai soldiers mercilessly massacred the workers of the mako reactor, people who generally could not put up any resistance, and to me it seems a monstrous act.

Behind me I hear startled, yet muffled exclamations. It appears, I am not the only one who thinks that way.

Without turning I call out for the two oldest soldiers in my group, hoping that they at least had some experience dealing with the dead and for them it wouldn't be as hard.

"Find all the bodies and pile them up by the entrance for burial," my voice is a little cracked, for I cannot keep all conflicting emotions inside. Even my throat feels numb, let alone my sweaty fingers that are clenched around the handle of my katana with such force as if it is the last salvation. It seems an eternity passed since I had moved last, and in deathly stillness I can even hear the faint creaking of my black leather glove as I get a better grip of my sword.

Having stepped over the first victim with a fractured skull, the result of a blow delivered with a blunt weapon, like a mace, I think, I finally overpower the state of utter numbness and wend my way deep into the heart of the reactor. As I stroll, oblivious of anyone following me, the sight by the entrance repeats itself with morbid precision, bodies scattered on the floor, men lying near women, stabbed or beheaded, but all the same mutilated and lifeless. At times, I tread upon thin stains of blood darkening on the refulgent floors, and the quiescence is still overwhelming, letting me hear every step I take and the rustle of my uniform. Not a single breath of wind touches my cheek, and in slightly damp air shorter tresses of silver that frame my face adhere to my skin, creating the unpleasant sensation of heaviness.

I am no longer wondering why Shin-Ra had assigned such a large detachment for the investigation of an unprecedented, I believe, slaughter.

Soon I understand why the air feels damp. Having peered into a dozen of destroyed control rooms, I finally find the stairs to the lower levels, but it appears that the Wutai assailants have flooded them with sea water to render the reactor completely inoperative. The door to a small room next to me is sealed shut, and I order soldiers, who have finally caught up with me, to break it open.

Two of the infantrymen grab the crowbars Shin-Ra provided us with for the mission and resolutely set about breaking the door. It yields after three unsuccessful attempts, having fallen onto the floor with a shrill sound of metal grinding against stone.

It is pitch-dark in the room, so to light it I find a switch. Bright neon cuts through my eyes not used to such contrasts, and in short white flares a corpse impaled onto a large control lever emerges as well as a message, written on the wall with his blood.

I halt by the bare wall, smirched with crimson writing that stretches from one corner to another, and slowly follow the salient letters with my eyes.

WE DON'T NEED YOUR MAKO.

Vague in its meaning, the message signifies nothing to me, and neither does it to the soldiers, who crowded behind my back. How did mako end up in Wutai, being Shin-Ra's invention and prime object of pride? They stare at me, questions thrashing in their eyes, and I brusquely jerk my head, resting my eyes on the ceiling above us. Despite being a First Class SOLDIER and their superior, I know as much as they do and possess no skills of fortunetelling. The thought is followed by a brief prick of vexation, which, however, disappears as I notice the crowd part to let Genesis pass. The redhead's face is ashen, and I absently wonder if mine looks the same.

"What happened here?" He inquires hoarsely and quietly, as though afraid to disturb the deathly hush, and it hurts to look into his dark, nearly black eyes, to see the usual cerulean brightness ousted by the same fear I feel.

"Read this," I move away a bit to let him notice the bloody note left on the wall. He studies it with a deep frown and thereupon shakes his head, for it doesn't seem to make more sense to him than to me.

"We don't need your mako," the redhead repeats slowly, as if trying to taste each word and thus receive the answer that eludes us both. "There were no messages in the right wing. What can it possibly allude to?"

"Shin-Ra having more secrets than we know of," I surmise thoughtfully and equally quietly, so that none of the half a dozen other witnesses could hear.

Genesis still looks a bit perplexed, nervously twiddling a handle of his blade in his gloved hands and from time to time biting at his lower lip, yet he is getting back his self-mastery, and so do I. It seems that for now there is nothing we can do herein.

"Fall in!" I raise my voice, and it cuts through the silence as if with a sharp blade. The SOLDIERs, as though having awoken out of deep slumber, rouse themselves and quickly draw up. "We are returning to the main entrance."

"Yes, Sir!"

Together with Genesis and his unit, I make my way back to the central areas of the lifeless reactor whereat meet Masumi, who, it seems, has been waiting for us with impatience.

"What did you find, Sephiroth?"

To his question I briefly retell the older SOLDIER what I discovered. The blonde nods several times, as though my words have corroborated some of his guesses and, once I finish, adds, "There is another note in the main control room, only it says '_freedom_'. And we found no survivors either. For now, I ordered the army personnel to bury the bodies, and our investigation will continue on the morrow. We are done for today."

"Then I shall dismiss the soldiers and post the sentries…"

"There is no need to, the Wutaii are gone." Masumi interrupts me in mid-sentence. "Let everyone have a good rest before tomorrow. It will be a long day."

I brush a silver lock off my forehead with an abrupt gesture, "But what if this is a trap?"

The blonde SOLDIER sighs, with lenience it seems, and a flicker of a smile passes over his lips, gone in a instant, "I understand your apprehension, Sephiroth, but you are still too young. You don't know about politics much, and all this," he gestures towards the heart of a dead reactor, "is nothing but politics."

"Politics, or not," my eyes flare with bright silver, "but this is a perfect opportunity for an ambush."

"Sephiroth has a point, Masumi," Genesis chimes in with his usual lazy smirk flashed at me through auburn tresses. He looks at neither, rather studies something on the floor, a speck of greenish light, a dark spot, or the tip of his high-heeled boot.

The blonde SOLDIER flinches, turns his biting grey eyes to me, then to my friend.

"I was placed at the head of this operation," he reminds us with cold notes in his voice, "and I see no point in wasting our soldiers."

Since when are precautions called a waste? Yet, I do not wish to start the argument, for in the end I will once again be reminded about being too young and inexperienced. I have heard it countless times, and more than being tiring, the words annoy me exceedingly.

"Let's go, Genesis." I pivot abruptly and leave the reactor first, my redheaded friend not far behind.

There is nothing left for me to do besides hoping that time will prove me wrong.

* * *

This time our rooms lack most amenities, and the decor is vapid, being two narrow beds and two chairs illumined by dusky light. A small kitchen is in front, we entered through it, but otherwise the house on piles is rather small and empty.

Genesis seems to have recovered from seeing the massacre in the reactor, and now lies on the bed, watching me through half-opened eyes. My gait light, steps almost inaudible, I pace up and down the room once, twice, then halt by the window, eyes fixed on the limitless expanse of the sea.

It is not easy to dismiss the feeling that we have walked right into a trap.

"Masumi knows more than we do." I voice out my vacillations, likely, talking more to myself than to the redhead. "Apparently, Shin-Ra let him into its secret agenda, having left us blind. Still, to me he sounds overconfident, and it is not the first time I see overconfidence destroy a SOLDIER. What do you think, Genesis?"

His opinion is the one I, unlike many others, value, and before making a decision I would like to know what his thoughts are.

The redhead ponders over my question for a moment, "I agree with you, this looks like a trap to me. I don't see much sense in killing workers of the whole mako reactor for any other reason than luring a large detachment of SOLDIERs into an ambush." I decline my head onto my chest, having turned ever so slightly to see my friend's face in the corners of my eyes. Cerulean slits flash, like sapphires, as he voices out a thought that has been on my mind for quite a while after I've seen the slaughter. "Seph, do you think it is something like a declaration of war?"

I wish to say that I don't, but that will be a lie.

"I don't know, Genesis, and making hasty assumptions is the least wise choice in this matter, but… it seems that something has happened between Wutai and Shin-Ra." The fact doesn't seem to bother my friend, and besides an enigmatic smile, I yet have to get another reaction from him. "You don't seem overly concerned."

He carelessly shrugs, having repeated my own words spoken in the morning when I thought nothing would happen. "Wars beget heroes, don't they?"

I would have never guessed he could take my words so seriously. Having crossed the room, I pick up my katana, affix it to my belt and resolutely touch the doorknob. Conversations can wait until I am done with orders.

"I shall post the sentries from my own detachment, and come what may. Don't wait for me, it might take about half an hour."

…When I return to the room after having issued necessary orders, it is dark, and Genesis seems to be sleeping. I quickly discard the black uniform and climb underneath the blanket, grateful it is clean. I still remember a mission when we stayed at a village that had no inn and slept in tents for a week; I am not particularly picky about my surroundings, yet nonetheless prefer order and cleanness. About half an hour passes by in idle thinking, before I finally succumb to uneasy slumber, being certain I'll see images of slaughter.

A loud bang, which at first seems a part of my dream, suddenly bursts into my consciousness, and only when I open my eyes do I understand it isn't. A muffled but clearly desperate voice follows, having torn me out of peaceful haze faster than a bucket of cold water poured over my face.

"Sephiroth, Sir, open the door, we are under attack!"

I abruptly sit up on the bed, a blanket already cast aside, and quickly slip on a sleeveless turtleneck. "I am coming!" My loud response wakes the redhead, who mumbles my name and tries to cover his head with the blanket to muffle the clamour heard from the streets. However, after an acute yell followed by a short burst of machine-gun fire Genesis leaps out of the bed as if stung by a bee. His still hazed with slumber eyes sweep the room, then find me as I quickly finish lacing my boots.

"What's going on?"

"Get dressed," I reply curtly in a tone I would be issuing orders, yet the redhead does not notice, gesturing to the window wherefrom the swelling noises of raging battle are heard. Only now I notice the faint reddish glow that taints the placidity of a night and gives it an almost sinister tinge. "We are attacked by Wutaii; that is all I know."

While I am still explaining, the redhead hastily slips into his uniform, and together we dash towards the exit doors.

Two bodies, one in the uniform of a Third class, the other in unfamiliar dark armour, lie by the threshold joined in the last embrace, and we leap over the dark hump without wasting time to check whether any of them are still alive. The glow of flames now reins over the skies as a Firebird with its wings spread afar, and the biting light of multi-colored stars is lost in the rage of crimson.

The street in front of us is empty, yet the sounds of struggle are heard from everywhere, yells blending with gunshots, curt orders – with pleas and whizzing of bullets. Aichi seems engulfed in utter mayhem, and for a moment we stand quiescent, uncertain whereat our help is needed more.

We are, however, noticed almost at once as a scream rings from the darkness, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps, "First Class SOLDIERs! Finish them pre-eminently!" and thereupon we find ourselves surrounded by the dark shadows that pour into the street out of nowhere.

Steel flashes and clangs as our blades cross, and neither I, nor Genesis waver, even outnumbered three to one. It is time to show that I haven't been taught for nothing, that my hours spent at the training rooms allow me to conquer and alter circumstances to my will and liking. The thought is surprisingly calm and doesn't lack a certain share of complacency.

Two of the Wutaii fall upon me from left and right, both professional enough to understand how to fight without getting in each other's way. I parry both blades with my katana, push them apart with strength even both men cannot oppose and, having slipped in between, deliver a slashing thrust, cleaving one from head to stomach. The other dodges my riposte, swings his sickle-like weapon at me in a wide arc, wide enough to slow him down to a point when penetrating his defences is effortless. The Wutaii gurgles as push him away, freeing the blade that pierced his chest.

The battle is over in mere minutes. I and Genesis emerge unharmed while six Wutaii troopers lie motionless on the ground, not even a moan heard therefrom.

"I'll go to the right," the redhead suggests, his voice a little ragged from panting, and shakes the blood off his sword.

I turn round the corner of the building that served as our quarters and run towards the first fight I notice. Thereat three or four regular Shin-Ra army soldiers are desperately trying to fend off an attack of a large group of Wutaii troopers, their guns nearly helpless against the swiftness of the latter moves. One falls with a shuriken in his neck the moment I notice them. Having pushed off the ground, I leap through the air, having breached the distance between us faster than any normal person would. The Wutaii notice me, yet are not fast enough to meet me with more shuriken before my blade cuts through flesh, and their first warrior falls beheaded. I advance though their lines, leaving blood and bodies everywhere I go, and, judging from puzzled and horrified looks on their faces, to them I am faster than a silver lightning, deadly and precise, almost… inhuman. This time, however, the thought disappears in a whirl of steel and pitch-black night skies as I cut through their lines anew, and it feels so effortless, as though I dance, a step, a swift turn, a thrust – all a melody of a battle only I hear. A house to my right sinks with a deafening rumble, bestrewing us with red-hot sparks, and the Wutaii closest to the perishing building catches fire and with a yelp begins to roll on the ground. The last trooper falls upon me with a desperate scream, steel meets steel with an acute clang, and for a moment we are frozen like that, oblivious of everything but the burning eyes of a mortal enemy above the decussated silver of swords. He hates me so much that for an evanescent moment his strength matches mine, yet, as I push him away, it is already obvious who will win. I take two abrupt steps, fake a lunge, but as he wastes time to riposte it, leap up and bring my katana down with speed of a lightning bolt. A silvery flash it is, adorned with crimson when sinks into the man's shoulder and cleaves it to the chest, despite the protection of the light breastplate. Fear glimmers in his eyes before the Wutaii kneels, as if bowing to me, already broken, yet stubborn to show he is not.

"Wutai will not fall into your dirty hands," he wheezes with spite through blood streaming from his mouth and then finally falls to the ground in a heap of lifeless flesh.

For some reasons I do not feel triumph, and when reinforcements arrive, reach out for the materia and simply bury the troopers under the avalanche of ice, which – as my blade before – turns from pristine white to scarlet.

The feeling I am seized with is as if I am bereft of something, and it is more important than the victory I achieved. Yet, I do not know what it is, lacking even a conception of a coherent guess.

"Sephiroth, Sir, th-thank you for your help," one of those surviving soldiers stammers, and it helps me out of the reverie. The battle is not yet over. Having nodded to acknowledge the appreciation, I leave the scene as fast as I came.

I do not know how many I killed before I finally meet up with Genesis, but it had to be many, yet not for once did I falter or retreat. My blade is covered in blood, my skin feels unpleasantly sticky, and even my hair bears numerous signs of harsh struggle, tangled, smirched with crimson and covered in ash or dirt. The redhead doesn't look any better, and pain-filled azure eyes stand out on his pale face in an eerie way.

Aside from the crackling of flames and the rumble of crashing roofs, there are no other sounds heard, even the sea seems to have lapsed into silence.

"Why do they hate us so much?" He inquires, clutching a thin cut on his forearm, and I do not know what to say. My eyes slowly side along the carnage, and I fear to hear about how many men, my men, died that night and for Masumi's negligence at that.

I fear, so I remain silent.

It is time to seek out the older SOLDIER and leave before our casualties become worse than they already are.

* * *

Early next morning we stand before Lazard in his immaculate office, and the strain of the night struggle seems almost surreal. The Director is black as a thundercloud, and I share his mood, for, although the battle is won, the casualties are far worse than any of us could have expected. Masumi was severely wounded and rushed to the nearby large hospital, the lives of about a dozen of SOLDIERs lost, and we yet have to count the casualties in the regular army or among the Aichi civilians. Wutai's losses were heavier, but for me it is not a question of numbers. The only thing that saved us was my and Genesis' precaution, _unnecessary_ as it was called, and my thoughts are acerbic and painful. I see it as a sign of the most humiliating failure when lives had to be sacrificed to incompetence or inability to rationally construe the circumstances rather than for any reasonable cause.

"You have done well, and your feats will be noticed and recognized, even if not… publicly," nonetheless, Lazard is smiling, even if his cold-blue eyes are not. "You must understand that the… incident cannot be broadcasted on television without certain… precautions."

He has the right to be chary, and I confine myself to a curt nod. Genesis, however, is not satisfied.

"Does it mean war?" He demands, and I recognize the usual defiant redhead, not the dispirited one I saw in the village after the skirmish.

"Gaia, no, Genesis. That is why we have to be very cautious about what we show on television and rely on brevity and secrecy. The most fervent _might_ start talking about war, and you know how nonsense clings to the public opinion." Lazard grimaces. "They'll be screaming about it on every corner, and before we know it, we'll have war."

"So what is going to happen next then?"

The Director's glance I am gifted with is once again biting, pale-blue eyes sparkling from behind the glasses.

"We negotiate. Our ambassador has already been sent to lord Godo, and in a week or so we will sit down at the negotiating table together."

The redhead takes a step forward, clearly infuriated with Director's words, and nearly spits the reproach out.

"Just like that? They slay the whole reactor, ambush and kill many of us, and we just _talk_?"

This time Lazard sighs wearily and rests his forehead against his palms.

"Yes, for now we just _talk_. Meanwhile, uncertain of how things will progress in future, the President and I decided to give you a five day weekend. You may visit your family, Genesis, as may Angeal. As for you, Sephiroth, you are free to do whatever you wish."

We understand that we are dismissed, and, having expressed gratitude, leave the office. Yet, doubts linger, heavy and unpleasant, for it is easy to guess that the incident will create rumours.

What Lazard said notwithstanding, later I will try to remember when the war started, and, whereas we shall fight the actual battles much later, I shall realize that it began on that day.


	5. Chapter IV

_**A/N**__**: **_Well, rose and vanilla fragrances are not my invention, so don't blame my wicked muse. :D

* * *

_Chapter IV._

Banora meets us with sunlit azure skies and endless expanse of fields that stretch as far as my keen eyes can descry. A narrow sandy path begins whereat we stand, and, raising my eyes with slight amusement, I realize that we are about to enter a grotto, made by the arching trunks of the strangest trees I have ever seen. Their bark is light in color and even looks immaculately smooth; among verdant leaves hide sun-kissed _purple_ apples, their variegated colors so bright I will yet have to see something outshine them. The wind carries fresh smell of the mowed down grass, supplementing the first feeling I recognize among many others, and it is freedom, as if the walls of a cage around me crumble once again.

I throw back my head, holding it up to warm sunrays, and the tangle of branches clouds my vision anew. In their uniqueness the apple trees are akin to a fountain of mako I once saw during one of my first missions as a Second Class; a miracle of nature I called it then. Truly magnificent.

I must have said it aloud, for Genesis softly snorts in his airy manner and offers in the same voice, "You were not exactly the outspoken and social type when we first met and I didn't think you could appreciate something like that. It perplexes me all the time, I mean, seeing that my first impression was wrong."

Angeal lifts his hands in dismay, as if contriving to offer me an explanation to Genesis' at times tactless behavior.

"Don't listen to him, Sephiroth. He remembers it only because he doesn't like to be wrong about anything."

Such banter is rather usual between the three of us, especially when nothing serious is involved, however, as we set out towards the village that can be seen in the distance, the mood changes abruptly.

Angeal asks about our mission to Aichi for the first time after we returned.

To no surprise, both of us are reluctant to talk about what we have seen, as the dark, lifeless heart of the reactor is difficult to remember on a peaceful summer day. At times, it even seems a dream that had never happened.

The sound of crunching sand and pebbles clings to us, and the longer the silence lasts, the more awkward it seems.

"When we arrived at the reactor, everyone was already dead," Genesis forestalls my intention to speak, and certainly he says it better than I would have. I would have gone into greater detail, as this is how I am used to express my thoughts, tersely, yet without omission of certain important facts. "There was nothing we could do. At night the Wutaii attacked us, but Sephiroth posted the sentries who warned us on time."

"I heard that," Angeal echoes quietly. "I was returning from a mission myself when the news reached us. You should have seen Lazard; he paled, and I've never seen him so taken aback. Then we didn't know what First Class SOLDIER was wounded, and I remember thinking what if he was one of you…"

"Nah, Angeal," Genesis waves his friend aside in a carefree manner, "we are just too good. Right, Sephiroth?"

I certainly hold a high opinion about my abilities, yet Genesis' overconfidence reminds me of Masumi's and a stiff price that was paid for it.

"I don't…" I begin, but falter as the redhead grimaces behind his older friend's back, and I realize I misunderstood his intentions. Likely, he doesn't want Angeal to worry much, therefore I correct myself. "I don't think they stood much of a chance against us."

The tension in the air is gone with Angeal's heartfelt laugh, his steel-blue eyes warmer than the sun above us. "Did you two conspire against me?"

Exchanging similarly meaningless remarks, we reach the fork of the road, and by then the shadow of the tragedy at Aichi is dispelled by the almost impossible gaiety of my friends' home town.

Like in Midgar, people are everywhere, but these people are different, joyous instead of dispirited, smiling instead of listlessly hurrying into neon-lit gloom of dirty streets. We naturally attract attention, as our black uniforms stand out against the motley surroundings, but I can't say that the inhabitants are importunate. Moreover, they are quite affable.

"Genesis, it's Genesis! He came back! And Angeal, too!" Maybe, even too affable for my liking. That I think, as I suddenly hear a girl's voice and a moment later its holder appears from the small crowd in a whirl of black hair and light-green dress. My friends exchange glances, meaningless to me, since I know nothing about this acquaintance of theirs. She is definitely younger than us, a lively girl with her lips curved in a Cupid's bow and raven-black hair loosely cascading over her shoulders. "I missed you so much. Why didn't you write anything, not even a single line in months? SOLDIER life must be so-o-o exciting; they show it on TV all the time. The other day I even saw you, Genesis, among all those important people. My mom says that you are an important person now, too…"

During this verbal assault I stand aloof, outwardly silent and dispassionate, watching the girl with slight vexation, and her way of speaking has little to do with my feelings. It mainly is how she looks at Genesis, and I don't even know what it is in her eyes that disappoint me or why I should even be disappointed with something so trifling. Thereupon, feeling my intent gaze, she suddenly turns and glances at me, as though noticing my presence for the first time, her eyes as little opals shining from underneath the dark eyebrows.

Though generally acquainted with women, I have never spoken to a young girl before. In the labs whereat I grew up, they didn't have children besides me.

"And who are you? Are you like one of them, SOLDIERs, too?" I nod.

"Hikari, this is our friend, Sephiroth, "seeing that this will be the only answer she gets from me, Angeal comes to my rescue, "and he is a SOLDIER, like us."

The girl studies my blank face with a curious glimmer in her eyes and finally blurts out, her hands mimicking shorter locks framing my face.

"Your hair looks funny. And silver. Like that of an old man."

I admit I am startled, as no one has ever spoken of my hair in such an unusual, to say the least, way. Both of my friends can't suppress a chuckle, and Angeal covers his mouth not to burst out laughing. I don't know what I am supposed to say; I am used to being teased by both of my friends, but hearing it coming from a person I have just met feels like being teased by a scientist or a superior. The thought is odd, and, having politely thanked for the introduction, I excuse myself, since a decision not to hinder my friends' conversation with the girl seems the best at the moment.

I slowly follow another yellowish path, thoughtlessly watching pebbles I step on, until suddenly someone seizes my forearm, and, having jerked my head up, I face a rather confused Genesis.

"Why did you walk away? She was just joking."

Now it is my turn to look befuddled and, meeting sparkling sapphire eyes, clear as the welkin above, I state what I believe to be obvious. "I see it unnecessary to converse about meaningless issues."

"But you do it with us all the time."

"You are different," Genesis' fingers are still clutching my forearm, and I gently unclench them with my gloved hand. There is a moment of awkwardness between us, his fingers lingering in mine, and I feel slight ambiguity in the words I have just said, thereat having decided to explain myself. "You are my friends. She is not."

Angeal catches up with us, and together we near another fork whereat he takes a road that leads to the small group of houses cuddling up together. Genesis and I turn the opposite way, for the redhead insisted on me staying with him.

Genesis' house stands aloof on the small hill, surrounded with orchards and buried in verdure, but the first detail that comes into sight is a tall windmill regally towering above the landscape. Pictures aside, I have never seen a windmill before.

His parents are wealthy landlords, and we are introduced with proper formality which I find befitting for the first reception and quite comfortable. Genesis is happy to see them, as I would expect, and I wait until his mother has her share of attention from the long absent son. There was a time I would have given up anything to have a mother, yet by now that part of me has almost died. If I could, I would have still searched for her, but I no longer crave for her presence like I used to. I killed, and everything changed that day as I realized that I am no longer an innocent child.

I was thirteen then.

By now the times when I was ingenuous are almost effaced from my memory, and I believe it is for the best. If the war starts, I will be sent to the front lines without a second thought, and battlefield is the worst place for artless.

My thoughts are interrupted by Genesis' mother, Lira, who, I realize, bears little kinship with her son, short, slender and dark-haired.

"We knew you were coming and prepared a dinner beforehand," she speaks to me with a pleasant smile. "You must be hungry and tired."

I absently nod, belatedly realizing that it was a very rare occasion when someone bothered asking me whether I was tired or hungry. Hojo rarely paid heed to such trifles as my wellbeing, yet I learned to dismiss such thoughts without any emotions. The times when Hojo had limitless power over me are once and for all over.

I follow my cordial host into the living room, noticing the smallest details of the décor as I go by, so unusual it seems to me. The house is old, walls decorated with paintings and wooden furniture polished to lustre, yet it somehow seems _alive_, lacking sensation of impersonality and estrangement I always get in a small neon-lit lab.

"We have heard so much about you. They keep talking about your extraordinary abilities, advertising success of mako." Meanwhile, Mrs. Rhapsodos patters with excitement. "When Genesis decided to join SOLDIER, he wanted to meet you. Isn't that so, Genesis?"

The redhead softly smirks, the reaction apparently visible only to me, "Whatever you say, mum."

I shake my head with disbelief, for I rarely bother listening to what Shin-Ra broadcasts about me. Being quite hypocritical, my superiors often extol my prowess in public, but when it comes to missions, I no less often find myself being called young and inexperienced. Genesis' mother made a good point. I serve as an advertisement of mako, but those times will be over soon as well.

It is more than a feeling; it is a particular kind of certainty, premonition, but – as always - future is mine to decide.

* * *

After dinner that went by in a rather cheerful atmosphere, our time spent listening to countless stories Genesis told about SOLDIER life – some of them were new even to me – I ascend a staircase to the room whereto my belongings have been brought. A pair of white pants and a shirt of the same color lie on my bed, and, having arched my brow, I wonder if Genesis wants me to wear those. My small room is bathing in burgundy colors, Genesis' favourite, and it somehow makes me feel the redhead's presence even if he is not there.

Having slipped out of my black uniform, I head for the shower cubicle and once inside turn the water on. Though not subjected to temperature changes as much as an ordinary person, I still enjoy a warm shower.

The glistening waterfall cascades over my shoulders, warm streamlets caressing my skin, and I hold my head up to the splatters, letting the damp heavy mass of my hair loosely fall. Having picked up a small bottle of shampoo I always carry with me, I squeeze the cool viscid liquid onto my palm. It smells of roses; the faint, yet exquisite scent fills the misted glass cubicle as I gently and slowly apply it along the waist-length silver curve. Washing my hair is something like a ritual to me, repeated and perfected over the years, for details I found unique have always been a pride of mine. Needless to say, I never neglect objects of my pride.

After the shower, I dry my hair with a towel, enjoying the faint smell of rose with a tinge of vanilla. Outside the skies grow darker, casting a shadow over the scenery, yet the white trunks of the apple trees can still be seen in the distance, softly glowing in fading sunlight. I quickly slip into the casual clothing and, having decided to find Genesis, leave my room.

The old house seems empty, and I don't have a clue as to whereat to look for the redhead. My tread is light, and for all that the burnished floor boards creak as I go from one dark room to another. Finally, I notice a small strip of light glowing in semi-darkness from underneath a tightly closed door. It yields to my push, revealing a large room crammed with bookshelves, a family library I presume, and at the furthest end of it I see my friend. The light from a single lamp flickers ever so slightly, and shadows from the ambience quiver with it.

Genesis reposes himself on the burgundy couch, his head resting on the cushion, one leg bent to support a small book he is reading avidly, the other outstretched. He doesn't acknowledge my presence until my shadow falls across the pages and my stare is too intent not to feel. There is undeniable grace in my friend's pose, each curve barely hidden under the light scarlet shirt he wears with elegance, yet more than I study him I actually study myself, questioning another sudden wave of attraction to him that is not quite _friendly_.

Meanwhile, his shining eyes upon my face, Genesis puts his hand onto the burgundy couch by his side and speaks to me, his voice smooth, melodic, and slightly solemn, "Settle down, my friend."

I slide onto the couch and put my arm around one of the velvety cushions. "What are you reading?"

An enigmatic smile passes over Genesis' lips with my question, and he manages to keep it while citing from his memory.

"_When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end  
The goddess descends from the sky;  
Wings of light and dark spread afar,  
She guides us to bliss… her gift everlasting…_"

"What is it?"

"_Loveless_, an ancient epic poem about…" Genesis falters, hiding the bright sapphires of his eyes between thick eyelashes. "Honestly, I don't know what it is about, the three friends, the Goddess and her enigmatic gift or else. I don't even know whether it is just a poem, or a legend, or, maybe, even a prophecy. But I do know this – its mystery is yet to be solved, and I shall solve it."

"Humph, it seems you thought about it for a while."

Agitated, Genesis swiftly rises, having discarded the book with another equally impetuous gesture of his. It lands on the couch by my side, and I take a squint at its cover, light leather decorated with a scarlet title, _Loveless_.

"For a while…" Genesis' voice is gentle, quiet as he echoes my own words. The loose cloth flows around him in time with smooth strides and when he halts, goes still. "What do you know about it, Sephiroth? It fascinated me from the very moment I picked up the poem, and it was one of the first books I've read. I yet have to see the play in Midgar, but I think I memorized it better than any of the actors." The redhead falls onto the couch by my side, peers at my face, as if searching for something. "Have you ever had such a feeling when you know that there is more to what you understand, but at the same time you can't comprehend what it is exactly."

I ponder over his question for an instant, already knowing the answer, yet my feelings have nothing to do with _Loveless _or poetry I enjoy, however rarely.

"I had." My reply is barely a whisper; my head falls onto my chest and I blindly watch creases on my white shirt. This time silence lasts longer, and I wish I knew what the redhead is thinking about. I am thinking about him.

Usually I am fine sitting in silence engrossed in my own thoughts, however, this time the quiescence is more awkward, strained, as if something is missing or something has to be said to fill it, but none of us knows what. I feel the new silence as though it is tangible, wondering whether I should share my strange thoughts with the redhead.

"So how do you find Banora?" It appears he feels the change as well and asks for the reason of breaking the silence. We sit so closely that I can feel warmth of his body, and it distracts me a little, since all I apparently manage thinking about now is Genesis. The wan light in semi-darkness and the landscape in the tall window, arching shadows of trees clearly visible against the indigo skies, don't help either. I smirk to myself, and the smirk is the reflection of my vacillations, rather than of a desire to mock anyone. It is so much easier when I fight.

"It is a special place, you are right. When I grew up in the labs, they used to show me pictures of various places, but seeing a picture and actually visiting a place is different. I remember being… curious." I dislike to be reminded of that part of my past often, a cold, painful part that eventually made me into who I am now. There is, however, a flicker of a smile in the corner of my lips as I turn slightly to face my friend. "I remember wondering, yet seeing it with my own eyes is indescribably richer, more intense, like actually…" I am about to share my thoughts about a cage being broken when Genesis shifts closer, and I feel his fingers slide under my chin as he turns my face. I suddenly feel heat whereat skin touches skin, but it is not an unpleasant kind of sensation I remember from my childhood; on the contrary, I wish it to last longer.

"Tell me, Sephiroth, have you ever…" He gazes at me with demand burning in lucid azure eyes, as if alluding to something I should have guessed on my own, yet leaving it an empty pause between us. It lasts longer, as we hesitate to cross the last boundary – or so it feels like – and when I slowly raise my hand to cover his elegant fingers, he is gone, leaving the question unasked.

"Genesis…" I call out for him quietly, slightly perplexed with his abrupt decision. He doesn't turn, stalking head lifted aloft and narrow shoulders unbent.

"Forget about it, Sephiroth."

Then semi-darkness swallows him whole.

* * *

When we meet up with Angeal in the morning, he is a shadow of his previous cheerful self. There are bags underneath his eyes from a sleepless night, he looks tired and speaks wearily. Once we take a seat on the grass under the biggest apple tree in Genesis' garden, the redhead worriedly asks at once.

"What happened, Angeal?"

Our older friend slowly takes a sword off his shoulder and sets its tip against the damp soil whereto it at once sinks; the massive blade we didn't at first notice is broad and cut askew towards the end.

"I never asked my parents about anything. I knew we were poor and couldn't afford it," he begins in a quiet voice, gloved hands firmly clasped around the reddish handle, forehead pressed against the blade in a solemn manner, "but I never thought it would come to this."

The redhead is definitely better than me in offering comfort, and when he puts his narrow palm onto our friend's broad shoulder, the latter relaxes.

"Tell us everything, Angeal."

"My father is sick, Genesis. He gave everything he could so that I can have this sword once I become a First, but I… I would prefer that he didn't." Angeal's shoulders shake and it seems he is crying, but when he lifts his head, steel-blue eyes are dry and empty. I know this gaze; I remember Genesis looking at me like that after the slaughter at Aichi. "He got into debt and to pay it off had to work harder than usual. It undermined his health, and now…"

"I can ask my mother to pay some of your debt," Genesis offers with concern, yet our older friend only shakes his head.

"Thank you, Genesis, but it is too late. Doctors say he will die in a week, maybe, week and a half." Angeal leaps up to his feet, his face distorted by anger, or despair, or both. "Damn our poverty! Damn his pride! He should have said something, but instead, when I come home, I get this news that comes like… like a bolt out of blue." Thereupon, as though defeated and drained, he slumps to the ground and freezes, staring at his sword. None of us know what to say, but silence, comfortable and comforting, seems enough for now. I don't know how one feels losing someone dear to him, like a true parent; I only know how it feels to have never had one, and, likely, the latter is worse.

Angeal is the first one to speak again. Perhaps, he needs to have his say, and we are there to listen to him. He rises anew and, having lifted his sword, makes a solemn oath to himself, rather than to any of us.

"This sword is the last memory of my father, and so I swear upon its blade to keep it intact and use it as rarely as can, just as I wish for my memories of him to remain intact and not rust or fade with time." His voice gains strength, ringing clearly and with dignity, and it seems his face shines softly as he finishes in the same stately accentuation. "May pride and dreams guide me so that my sword will never be used with dishonour."

Those are strong words, but I wonder whether he will be able to keep his oath, a quite rash one on the verge of a war. After he says it all, Angeal looks calm, as though he knows what has to be done and how. I never had this kind of faith.

I look at my older friend, and now he is just sad, not even a trace of anger left in his eyes or pose. Leaning against the smooth trunk of Banora apple tree, he seems to have found peace within himself.

"If you need us…"

"Thank you, Sephiroth," a ghost of a gentle smile passes over Angeal's lips for the first time this morning, however, I already know what he will say, "but I would like to be left alone for a while."

I respect his decision to mourn in solitude and, having waved a hand at Genesis, rise to leave.

When I kill, I often think that I am taking lives of someone's fathers, sons and brothers; I often think of reasons I do so, and they are quite simple and selfish. My duty is to make sure that those who are my people don't lose their relatives and friends. It is simple and egoistical, but when I choose whether I live or my enemy does, the choice is that simple and that egoistical.

I know that if I dwell upon this thought, questions will no longer have facile answers, and causeless emptiness will flash its ugly smile at me. My purpose is to search for them, to search for truth, _my_ truth, which is different from the President's or Lazard's. I am painfully aware of the possibility that my search may last a lifetime and that I may fail.

Just as I am painfully aware of my actions however little hope is that Shin-Ra will ever understand me.

* * *

In the evening there is still no sign of Angeal, only a brief text message from him saying he is with his mother and will meet us tomorrow, so we decide to give our friend a little more time. Instead of aimlessly wondering around the town, I suggest we watch television, for I admit I am very curious about how Shin-Ra resolved to broadcast the incident at Aichi.

As we ensconce ourselves on the redhead's bed, the matt screen returns to life and at once we see it on the news. A large title saying _'disaster at Aichi'_ that occupies the lower part of the flat screen is ousted by a running line enumerating the civilian casualties, yet nothing of SOLDIER or Wutaii is mentioned. A picture of a man in a black suit appears thereupon; the background behind him looks like Aichi, but it's so vague that even I can hardly tell the difference. This landscape could have belonged to any fishing village on the coast.

"Today the President of Shin-Ra Electric Company announced a day of mourning for victims of a flood that killed thee dozens of workers in the mako reactor at the village of Aichi. The team of SOLDIERs has been sent for investigation immediately, and the lead investigators, including two promising young members of the elite, Sephiroth Crescent and Genesis Rhapsodos, confirmed initial reports of a sudden tide that claimed so many lives." We exchange glances, and I feel slight resentment towards Lazard's decision to honor us in such way. Genesis' eyes reflect my emotions as deep dark-azure mirrors. '_Why did they make us liars?_' His lips ask soundlessly. I only gesture towards the screen wherefrom the sweet polite voice continues to broadcast. "Right now the President issued a decree that will provide the families of victims with pensions and refunding. Also he wanted to assure the public that such incidents will not relapse, so I now call upon the President himself."

The screen changes color, and pictures of Aichi disaster flash before my eyes, all carefully chosen so that there is no sign of Wutaii assailants, bloody notes or mutilated corpses on them. I believe it was Veld's assignment to take care of the dead.

In such a way Shin-Ra always covered its failures.

Before the President appears on the screen after a short toothpaste commercial, Genesis impetuously turns the television off and hurls the remote control aside with a clearly frustrated grimace.

"What have they done, Seph?"

I fold my arms on my chest and, having inclined my head, smirk wryly, the crook of my lips expressing bitterness I feel. "They made a laughingstock out of SOLDIER, turned us into scapegoats and assured everyone that they would be fine. After all, this is what everyone wants to hear right now."

"But what if the war begins? Will they have to divulge the truth?"

I shrug with indifference, having echoed, "I wonder."

Genesis runs his hand through auburn hair and freezes by the window, his gaze riveted on something in the hazy distance. I wish I could repeat his gesture, yet know that my thoughts are inappropriate at the moment and that I should be concerned with our older friend. It seems Genesis thinks the same, and his next words confirm my guess.

"I wish I could help Angeal, Seph, but I know I can't. I feel so helpless now."

I come to stand by him and, seized by a sudden impulse, an urge to feel his closeness, gently pass my hand over silken auburn tresses. They are soft and pleasant to touch, but I know I can't allow myself more than this evanescent gesture.

"You will help him by being by his side when he asks." I whisper and quietly move away before the redhead notices I was there. He turns, looks at me with accusation – I feel his burning gaze with my back as I freeze, arms folded, head dropped onto my chest, silver tresses on my forehead shielding my eyes. I feel as though I am hiding and at the same time I am not. I would have said something, but the moment for my words is wrong.

This time the silence is sharp, and it feels like it is cutting through my ears, long, poignant silence. I expect anything from the unpredictable redhead, but he contrives to surprise me once again. Having leaned against the windowsill, Genesis suddenly enounces with rueful melodic notes in his voice, "My apple tree bears no apples this month, Seph. You will have to try them some other time."

…Two days after that we are called back to the Shin-Ra headquarters, for Lazard's ambassador has finally arranged a meeting with lord Godo we have to be present at as the elite guard to ensure that the negotiations will proceed smoothly.

We never shared an apple then, and an eternity will pass before we do.


	6. Chapter V

_**A/N:**_ Well, dreamysherry, you'll have to forgive me for stealing one part of your message, but I loved it too much. :D

* * *

_Chapter V._

The capital of Wutai owns its name to the state or, perhaps, visa versa. Since it is situated on a remote island, not much is widely known about its culture or history. Often, before I go on a mission, I study available materials about it, mostly since I would rather know the peculiarities of the place I am being sent to than rush into the unknown terrain blindly.

The nation is old, and my first impression is that the Wutai are very proud of their legacy. The style of clothing they are wearing, design of their houses and streets, even the way they talk is exceedingly old-fashioned. From the very moment we landed in the capital, I am trying not to stare too obviously; everything is so new and unusual, and yet I can hardly let myself express my amazement to an unprofessional degree. Perhaps, when I am left alone with my friends later, I will share my thoughts with them.

Genesis, Angeal and I are a part of the President's and Lazard's retinue responsible for protection, while Veld and Tseng accompany them to prevent any security breaches and stave off any danger of such attacks.

The smooth pavement obediently lies down under my feet, but I hardly pay any attention to the road whereon I walk. The buildings around me are of extraordinary design, their roofs curving upwards, and huge lanterns that dangle from the edges wink at each other in dusky semi-darkness.

At first, when I left the labs, even the tiniest details used to fascinate me; now the outside world is no longer an unfamiliar place I know little about, but something as extraordinary as Banora apple trees and Wutai houses impress me greatly, even if outwardly none would say I am impressed. I cannot turn around or halt to look closely, yet I know that these grandiose edifices with curved roofs as though threaded onto a tall pillar of a tower will linger in my memory for a long time.

Just as I know that one day I might find myself destroying them.

A limousine awaits us not far from the helicopter pad, a long black car with four doors and matt impenetrable windows guarded by members of elite Wutai forces. Their uniforms are traditional with a grey base and trousers embroidered with a chakram that signify that they belong to the lower ranks of the Engetsu Circle otherwise known as the Crescent Unit. I squint, regarding – it is quite probable – my future enemies; I have never faced any of the elite in battle thus far, and have to admit to myself that their skills and efficiency may come as an unpleasant surprise.

When we approach, warriors formally incline their heads in a traditional polite greeting, which I return equally silently. A strong gust of wind gets up from behind, scatters my long silver hair I am holding back with my left hand as, having stooped, slip into the spacious compartment. The white leather seats are extremely comfortable, the air is kept pleasantly cool, so I allow myself to relax, having shifted my eyes from our President dressed in a black suit to the window to my right.

Meanwhile, the driver starts the engine, and the car smoothly rolls onto the narrow road clenched between two walls of brightly shining lanterns.

Through the window I watch the city slide by the limousine as a ghost, a mirage of refulgent lights and dark shadows of edifices looming behind them. Lazard and Veld engage in a quiet conversation that is nothing but a meaningless murmur to my ears, the President is slowly sipping orange juice and, his face dispassionate, Genesis sits next to me in his ever so familiar pose, legs and arms crossed, auburn head thoughtfully tilted to the side. He notices me looking, returns my fleeting glance with a faint smile that is mirrored on my face instants later. While we are on an important assignment, talking about personal matters is not only unadvisable, but forbidden.

I wish to see Angeal's face, but he is the furthest from me, his black hair barely visible behind Genesis' smoothly outlined profile. There has been no news on his father, but it seems that my older friend had accepted his death, even if he hasn't talked about it much. Accepted, not forgot; forgetting comes with time if comes at all.

In about half an hour the limousine stops by a hotel; its door is opened at once by a polite man wearing a black suit and a pleasant smile as if an addition to it.

"Welcome to the '_Hanging Gardens'_ hotel, Mr. President. Our staff is happy to serve you until Lord Godo will meet you tomorrow afternoon at the Grand Lodge."

The President thanks in the same diplomatic way, and the three of us escort him to the luxury suit, prepared for his arrival. We disappear inside before I have time to take a good look at the building itself, but if on the outside it is at least half as splendid as inside, I would be impressed. The corridors wallow in luxurious decorations, buried in rich burgundy of different tinges – from lighter tones of the curtains to darker furniture – and blossoms of delicate white flowers are scattered on the walls. Thin streamlets of carpet runners meander underneath our feet, same burgundy outlined with gold, and it seems crude soldier's boots trample on their proud finesse. I am once again seized by a feeling that if our peace negotiations fail, that might happen to the Wutai nation, and I would be one of those infringing upon their congruity.

Unwittingly clutching the handle of my katana with gloved fingers, I keep watching the ambience and the menials, who – to be honest – don't pay any attention to our arrival. Once the President is secured and two Turks assume their position on both sides of the door to his suit, we are dismissed to our quarters nearby.

Each one of us is given a separate room, much smaller than the President's, yet with all possible amenities. The corridor is separated from the main premises by a thin wall, almost transparent in wan warm light emanated by small lamps scattered on the walls among the paintings. The door slides to the side as I step into the room, which I could call a bedroom, judging from the luxurious bast mat on the tatami and a low table with a fruit basket on it.

I am glad I am not staying with my redheaded friend this time. After Banora, we have been avoiding each other or rather avoiding being left alone as much as possible. I feel it is for the best for now until I am able to understand what it is that I want and how Genesis might respond to this sudden change.

Having leaned my faithful katana against the wall, I slowly slip between the pieces of exquisite and strange furniture, finally running my fingers along the surface of a wooden chest of drawers which even feels warm. I am so used to coldness of metal underneath my fingers that anything other than familiar chill still evokes pleasant sensations I distinguish among many others. I know that my reaction is not quite normal, but the difference between a lab and an outside world is at times hard to forget, complete restraint – hard to exercise.

Tips of my fingers brushing against the wooden surfaces, I continue to make my way through the room to the furthest end whereat on a wall a dark spot of a huge window can be distinctively seen among the paintings. Through my blurred reflection I peer into the blackness inflamed by multi-colored street lanterns, but see another view instead, the grotto of arching apple trees trunks softly glowing in moonlight.

Before I turn away to prepare for sleep, I smile.

* * *

The Grand Lodge is another of those grandiose edifices that challenge the skies with towers thin as spears crowned with smoothly curved roofs, yet there is something unnoticeably different about it, an aura of sacredness I sense like thin trickles of energy flowing around me as we approach the building. My friends must have sensed the same, for while we exchange numerous polite greetings at the entrance, Genesis runs his hand along a Leviathan statue, showing me that this is the source of their power.

Now I remember that the Wutai worship the Leviathan God, and, likely this Grand Lodge is more than an assembly place for the Engetsu Circle, but the main Temple to their god as well. The room, whereat the negotiations will be held, is void of luxurious adornments and even more traditional than any other I've seen so far. When we enter, three men rise from the low table they've been sitting by on the floor. Among them a middle-aged man with his black hair silvered on the temples stands out with his imperious bearing; his are the only garments that are lavishly decorated with the images of Leviathan, therefore I safely presume this is Lord Godo. While the familiar routine with polite greetings continues, we are introduced to each other, and two men on the right and left of Lord Godo appear to be Maetsuki and Shitsuki, the First and the Second Lance, two of the legendary leaders of the Crescent Unit. They are not wearing masks, their tradition notwithstanding, and I am seeing warriors, baptized by countless battles, whose fearless glances reflect deserved hubris. The dragons on their uniforms accentuate the impression I first had – these warriors will die, but won't surrender or betray their honor, a quite rash and unwise decision on a battlefield.

I would rather lose a battle than lose the whole war.

To them we are just puerile children, by mistake lost in a game called war, obedient weapons who weren't even invited to the negotiation table, and that we are for now. I might be a First Class, but respect is much harder to earn than the title, especially at such a young age when none takes me serious at times of making crucial decisions; yet, if we are to meet on the battlefield, the arrogant members of the Engetsu Circle will have to reckon with me.

Unlike the hotel menials, here we are greeted coldly and without any attempts to hide open animosity between our countries; the words are spoken tepidly, tersely, neither President Shin-Ra, nor Lord Godo even contrive to smile.

I freeze by the door, my pose a perfect reflection of quiescent Leviathan near the second entrance door guarded by Wutai; thereat, under the statue, golden engravings run across the dark-blue marble, '_Alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun'._

The only expression of interest I allow myself is an arch of a single eyebrow, but even it disappears when at last the President rises to begin his prepared speech. Absent-mindedly I wonder who wrote it for him.

I am listening to it with half an ear to understand only the main thread of thought ably hidden underneath the florid style of his speaking; it reminds me of Genesis', only my redheaded friend is not nearly as hypocritical as the President, especially when it comes to expressing regret about unnecessary losses in a misunderstanding at Aichi. His fervent assurances of a single desire to maintain peace between our two nations sound even more feigned, and by the look on Lord Godo's face, a look close to disgust, I believe the President's efforts are quite futile. When he finishes, the middle-aged warrior in rich traditional garments rises swiftly and asks a question the President failed to answer, despite the florid verbosity of his long speech.

That is the question whereto I want to know the answer myself.

"With all due respect, Mister President," the voice is cold, the gaze of dark eyes – straightforward, unwavering, "I still fail to understand why we need your mako. You sent your representatives to us a month ago, proposing to buy a technique we don't require, moreover a technique that would give you economical control over our proud nation. Our answer didn't change even after you attempted to tilt the balance to your advantage by deceiving the elite members of the Engetsu Circle. Aichi was the reaction your indignity provoked."

It begins to dawn on me whereof Shin-Ra conceived and why we had an incident at a regional mako reactor.

I never thought Shin-Ra would go that far. It appears I was wrong.

What else might I be wrong about?

"The cheap electricity produced from mako substance will gradually improve the living conditions of…" The President tries, yet, interrupted by calm and masterful voice, falls silent.

"We are wasting our time here." Both leaders are now standing, Lord Godo towering above the puny frame of President Shin-Ra, stern eyes sparkling with anger, and it seems that in his presence our leader shrinks.

"With all due respect, Lord Godo," Lazard comes to his rescue with a polite smile flashed at both First and Second Lances from behind his hand that adjusts the rim of his glasses, "but you haven't even looked at the prospects we prepared. There are many more advantages mako can offer, and all we ask in return is that you will consult us before making any crucial decisions."

"You are asking to abandon our independence, to abandon our land," Maetsuki, the First Lance, coolly interjects with a slight accent. "There is no such thing in the world worth it. We are asking you one last time – take your mako and leave, or we will fight."

The harsh tone makes even Lazard drop his polite mask; the Director of one of the most powerful departments known pales under the piercing gaze of the seasoned warrior, and words that have not been spoken, are soaked into silence. However, Lazard is not that easily baffled, otherwise someone else would be holding his position. The glass in his spectacles flashes almost menacingly as though echoing the undertone of his words.

"The decision is rather rash and unwise in the light of latest events at Aichi. Our SOLDIERs were outnumbered, yet easily achieved triumph. Don't you think that any military conflict between us would just be an unnecessary bloodshed?"

"Are you threatening us?" Again, Lord Godo, and again he is speaking with dignity I have to admit our President lacks.

"Threatening? No, no," Lazard hastens to assure, "this is merely an assertion of the obvious. Our influence is greater than you might suspect, esteemed warriors."

I understand that the negotiations took a wrong turn and have reached an impasse when Maetsuki rises to join his Lord.

"We will fight," the First Lance impatiently snaps out, as though hews with a sword, "this is our last word!"

The President wants to add something, but Lord Godo unequivocally forestalls his attempts, "Until you leave our ground, you are our guests and no harm will befall you. However, beyond that we are enemies, and our disagreements will be decided on the battlefield."

With those words all three members of the Engetsu Circle swiftly exit the room, leaving President Shin-Ra and Lazard alone and exchanging clearly displeased glances. Before we take our leave – unharmed as promised by Lord Godo – I hear Lazard's words, "No one has ever opposed us so decidedly," and the President's answer following shortly.

"Then they will pay for it."

Thereupon I think I have just witnessed the beginning of war.

…The outcome of negotiations notwithstanding, evening finds us back at the hotel in cheerful mood, at least as cheerful as it can be with the knowledge of upcoming war and of Angeal's dying father. The news is still a dark shadow looming over us, a silent reminder of death, a fourth present among us although we are trying hard not to notice it or at least pretend we don't.

The helicopter's arrival is due tomorrow in case the negotiations take longer than expected, and until then we are welcome to enjoy the hospitality of our future enemies for the last time. Still, the feeling of enmity is nearly tangible now, notably in the way the Wuraii glare at us every time we run into them in the streets or in hotel corridors. I believe the media spread the news about the conflict faster than the wind would have spread the fire in the withered forest.

"What are you staring at, Sephiroth?"

Only with Genesis' words I realize it does look like I am intently studying the tablecloth, a salient intricate pattern of serpentine dragons and snakes forever depicted mere inches away from swallowing each other.

"Humph," having flinched, I raise my eyes to find the redhead playing with chopsticks for his rice. He tried to sound cheerful, and he managed it. "I was simply thinking about what had happened earlier."

"Did you know that President Shin-Ra sent his representatives to Wutai a month ago?" Angeal inquires, having adroitly picked up a mouthful of seaweed and swallowed it with same ease. I glance at wooden chopsticks, then at pieces of fish in my bowl with uncertainty as to whether I will be able to do the same as ably as my older friend, therefore having decided against using them. However, it means I will have to remain hungry.

"No, it seems they withheld that information from everyone besides a small number of Firsts. Until Masumi failed them in Aichi, we weren't supposed to know either."

I know my words lack any consoling undertones, but then straightforwardness is rarely comforting. From time to time, I remember finding myself at variance with some people who expected me to say what they desired to hear, yet I prefer not to lie, however benevolent the intentions may seem.

"This means Shin-Ra trusts us more now." Yet, Angeal frowns as though not truly believing in what he has just said. His eyes involuntarily dart towards the broad blade leaned against the translucent wall, then return to his plate almost without lingering on a painful reminiscence.

"So it seems." Genesis languorously stretches himself and sets the chopsticks aside by the nearly empty plate. Only mine is still full. "The Wutai are pretty adamant, too, but I am not worried. Remember Aichi, Sephiroth?"

"Aichi nearly cost us a life of a First Class SOLDIER," I remind nearly automatically, "and I don't remember when it was the last time one of us was severely injured on a mission."

If it was just me and Angeal, we would have continued with the conversation, likely, having ended up discussing enemy's strength and weaknesses, but Genesis contrives to take us both by surprise. Having swiftly leapt up to his feet, he points to my plate and declares as though having taken a stand for the formal speech.

"I think Sephiroth needs to learn how to eat with chopsticks."

For an instant I am speechless, shifting my eyes from Angeal to Genesis, then back to Angeal as if seeking help, but my older friend just shrugs with a smirk. While normally I wouldn't be so enthusiastic, seeing Angeal smile is enough for me to yield to the redhead's demand. With an inaudible sigh, I pick up the wooden sticks with fingers of my left hand and attempt to eat some of chilled fish. Needless to say, I fail.

Genesis resolutely takes a seat by my side, one leg crosswise with another, and puts the chopsticks into my fingers, keeping his hand in mine a bit longer than he needs to. The touch excites me, makes me forget why I was holding the sticks, and only Angeal's words help me out of thoughtful quiescence.

"Sephiroth always learned fast."

Indeed, I always learned fast, however, this case proves to be a little more complicated. Wooden sticks soon slip out of my hand, clumsily land on the table before I could bring food to my mouth. Or, maybe, I wanted them to slip so that Genesis once again would put them into my hand, like that, fingers gently sliding over the back of my palm as though unwittingly, yet I know better. As he helps me, his lower lip is deliciously bit and azure eyes are hidden in the fringe of thick lashes.

The surge of attraction I suddenly feel is certainly not_ friendly,_ and I am glad that Angeal notices nothing. He just laughs at my unusually ungainly manners.

Yet, half an hour later I finish eating my fish with knack of a person who was born with chopsticks in his hands, only regretting the moment when both of my friends rise to leave as it is getting late. At least, out pastime helped Angeal forget about his troubles, and seeing mirth return to steel-blue eyes is certainly worth the little game played with Genesis, my previous doubts notwithstanding.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Seph," by the door Angeal bids his farewell and leaves, while I am again drawn to the window and endless watching of late night city behind the thin boundary of glass.

However, this time my contemplation doesn't last long, interrupted by the redhead, who lingered in my room. His vague reflection suddenly appears in the dark glass, yet refulgent sapphires of his eyes stand out against ivory skin even on the blurred counterpart of his face.

I turn faster than I should, yet otherwise keep my expression impassive, hiding questions that arise in my mind with the redhead's coming. This is the first time we are alone after Banora, and now we don't have excuses to avoid talking about the scene at the library. It was unexpected, it was abrupt.

What did it mean?

The question remains an arch of a silver eyebrow as I let Genesis talk; he was always better at it. At first, he smiles a bit bashfully, it seems, then the illusion disappears with his bold, frank, "I want to ask something I had in mind for… well, for a long time, and I don't…"

However, his boldness lasts but an instant, words fade to a whisper, and it seems I am bathing in warm azure light as the redhead lapses into silence anew. I also remain quiescent and outwardly dispassionate until I understand whereto he alludes…

The thought never finds an end, for Genesis loses his patience and, having resolutely settled both of his palms on my shoulders, leans closer until we share a breath and then, just an instant later, share a kiss.

When our lips touch, I recoil as if burnt, cornered to a wall and feeling my heart leap up to my throat; some of my tumult must have shown, reflecting in Genesis' eyes, in slight blush slowly creeping onto his cheeks.

Did I want _this_ or something else?

This time the always impetuous redhead is the one who gains his self-mastery and hubris back first.

"Don't react like you have never thought of it," Genesis' voice is a sensual purr as he, so calm, so certain of himself, draws closer once more, and I feel tips of his fingers gently sliding along the smooth blackness of the collar of my turtleneck.

Think about kissing him? I have not…

A slightly panicked thought flashes in my dilated pupils, but disappears behind the falling eyelashes when, eyes closed, I finally give in to the irresistible curiosity to feel those lush lips slide between mine once more.

Or, maybe, I have thought about it, after all.

Genesis' lips are warm and gentle, not even slightly insistent, but teasing, and I hold my breath to let the waves of unfamiliar, but pleasant sensations freely roam, the longer the better. I have never kissed anyone before, but it seems this skill is even easier to master than eating with chopsticks. As my kiss becomes bolder, shorter silver tresses fall onto our faces, shrouding them in soft veil, and the redhead doesn't fail to twine one thin lock around his finger.

Our phones erupt with loud beeps almost simultaneously, causing us to jump up from unexpected noise that mercilessly shreds our pleasant silence. Our embrace breaks, and the realization I was _kissing_ my friend just moments ago suddenly dawns upon me with all its awkwardness and even slight regret. Genesis forestalls my questions by whispering, "Later," in a rather seductive manner and picks up the phone.

"Yes, Director?"

His irritation disappears at once as even I can hear, "The Wutai broke their word and attacked us." _Again?_ I nearly groan aloud, pushing my long hair back, and swiftly unsheathe my katana that always waits at my fingertips. Is it what honor is worth nowadays, I think with disdain before Lazard's voice continues, "The helicopter has been exigently called from the border, and we will have to cut our way to it. Pass my orders to Sephiroth and Angeal and…"

Then the line goes dead.

I swing round to pass a sword to the redhead, and together we run out into the desolated corridor. The gloomy sight of two dead bodies sprawled on the burgundy carpet captures my attention at once; one belongs to the Wutai, the other – to one of our Turks. However, the President is intact, and, after meeting with Angeal, we are ordered to clear the street for the helicopter's landing.

This time the battle is short, but no less bloody than the one near Aichi reactor. The three of us swiftly deal with a half of a dozen of enemies, and, shaking blood off my katana, I gesture to the doors of the hotel, "Get the President, I'll wait for you here."

Angeal and Genesis disappear in the glowing with yellow light corridor, and once the sliding doors close, I am left in darkness alone. The city is sleeping the sleep of the just, and aside from the dead bodies and blood on the pavement, there are no signs of struggles on the street lit with dangling in pleasantly cool wind lanterns.

He steps out of the shadows silently, as being a part of them, and if it wasn't for my mako enhanced hearing, I would have never heard his light steps in the rustle of leaves and creaking of lanterns. However, my back to the stranger, I wait with restraint exercised during training and face him only when know that the tip of my katana will end up inches away from his face.

To no surprise, cold metal clangs against cold metal, and the sound itself is cold, merciless, shrewd.

"Who are you?" I demand with icy notes in my voice and inscrutable face, as though it is my innate right to demand, but my question appears to be pointless. Illumined by wan light, I see a face in a mask, but the uniform adorned with a red dragon betrays his title – the Fifth Lance of the Engetsu Circle. I do not know his name.

"I think you already understand," the low voice is taunting, the sparks in his biting eyes – a challenge. "But I would like to know the name of my enemy, even if my enemy is a child and even if he is about to die."

_We'll see about that_, I make a silent promise to my adversary, aloud having named myself with no less arrogance.

"Sephiroth. My name is Sephiroth."

The man slowly circles me, the glistening tip of his katana pointing to my heart. "Good. I was hoping it would be one of those who destroyed my people at Aichi. Whatever that fool Godo believes notwithstanding, I am not about to let you leave my country unscathed."

I do not remember who made the first move whereupon the fight broke out, but in an instant our blades clash with vehemence, and, grinding, strew sparks around, flying asunder with grace and easiness of harmless butterflies. My katana hits against the dangling lantern, and it breaks into smithereens with a doleful din, cascades onto the pavement around me in a glistening semicircle.

I inwardly smirk; the left corner of my lip quirks up a bit, and it is the only visible expression of my thoughts. My enemy is strong, but not strong enough.

It seems he understands.

Having clenched my katana with both hands, I raise my blade above my head and bring it down with swiftness of wind and fatality of death. Feet follow in a honed rhythm, one step forward, a jump, and the Fifth Lance so boastfully promising to end my existence not so long ago retreats under my rabid onset. I am wielding my blade with only my left hand now, easily parrying my enemy's attacks and still advancing, causing the latter to move backwards, then stumble over. The night flaps its dark wings around us, ripped by short flares of sparks as my katana effortlessly and smoothly whirls in my palm, hitting the enemy's each time and each time with greater strength. He is no longer that confident, grunting every time he has to hold back my advance. Finally, with a powerful swing I push the Fifth Lance even further away until his back hits the wall and he has nowhere else to retreat.

"What is your name?" I demand once more, looking through fires of the traitor's fierce glance, and my voice wavers just a bit when I inhale deeper to get my breath back.

Our swords are crossed mere inches from his throat, and the Fifth Lance knows he wouldn't be able to deter me from delivering the final blow with his dwindling strength.

"Nakatsuki…" he hisses, grunting from efort, as the glistening band of steel nears his skin, "Nakatsuki… damn… you..."

Nakatsuki… he gives me the title again, not the real name bestowed upon him by his birth mother. But… Nakatsuki then. Impressive.

With a 'humph' sound I lower my sword and move away. I noticed it in his glance despite all flames of hatred and defiance, and it was doom; he knows he is going to die, from my hand or in the hands of Lord Godo he betrayed when attacked us, but his fall is imminent. For some reasons I don't want to take his life, giving him a few more hours to breathe the night air of the late spring and cherry blossoms.

When I turn my back to him, he jumps. Had I been more careless, it would be my last breath, but I expected it, like I expected a trap in Aichi or an ambush in Cosmo Canyon a year ago. In a whirl of silver glistening brighter than the arch of my katana, I pivot on my heels and, having parried the blow, hurl the Fifth Lance to the ground. He quietly moans, pleading or simply making a sound from pain he cannot restrain, but when I approach with my blade raised above my head and hurl his to the side with my boot, the Fifth Lance doesn't utter a word.

My blade falls with a faint hiss.

_Why did you decide to die now… Nakatsuki?_

I turn around and walk away in swift strides, not a single glance cast back, but I take every step knowing what is behind me, knowing that, like Aichi, it will haunt me, knowing that…

Behind me the night slowly blooms with crimson.

* * *

At the closed conference exigently called at Shin-Ra main headquarters first thing in the morning after our arrival from Wutai, the President is angry and irritated; pacing up and down the room, he nervously twiddles a glass of orange juice in his hands. His eyes quickly rove about the large conference room and personnel gathered thereat as if seeking scapegoats for his fury. Finally, he places the empty glass onto the table with a din, loud in deathly hush, and proclaims, "I want to start the military preparations immediately. Gather everything we have, from regular army to elite SOLDIER sub-unit, and crush the insolents. I want to show Wutai the whole power of the company I have raised to such level with my own hands!"

Having spoken his high words, the President continues his aimless dashing in front of the frozen audience that consists of the Border of Directors, Turk elite and us.

"Won't it be… unwise to leave our borders unprotected?" Lazard finally dares despite the stern look directed at him once he started speaking.

The President, however, seems to wilt at once, murmuring, "Borders, borders… well, leave the protection of borders intact. Right?"

He asks as though seeking assurance. We remain silent. Until the military council begins to make real plans for the campaign, I have little to add to his talk, for it is nothing but an angry talk for now. Also, to me it is obvious that much of the President's aggravation comes from the lack of sleep last night when we left Wutai by helicopters.

"We will also have to save forces for the protection of Midgar."

Why do I even have to be here? At times like this I can relate to Genesis' boredom, however rarely, only soon my thoughts change direction, and with the redhead's name memories of last night make the conference much easier to bear.

My memories are both pleasant and not, but I only choose the pleasant ones to dwell upon.

"This is urgent, Mister President," suddenly a young Turk enters through the door, and in his hands there is a large package wrapped in scarlet cloth. He looks ill at ease, all undivided attention switched to him, and it clearly makes him nervous. Being in presence of vexed President Shin-Ra doesn't help either.

Noticing him, our President halts for a moment, "Open it… no, give it to me, I'll open it myself."

"But, Sir, isn't it dangerous…"

"I said – I will open it myself!"

The Turk obeys at once, having extended him the parcel with visible caution. It contains a letter with a dragon shaped seal, personal seal of the elite members of the Engetsu Circle, and I feel the words written therein will hardly be any less proud than the symbol chosen for its seal. I am proven right when the President puts the letter aside and announces with solemnity.

"Lord Godo apologizes for the broken word, assures us that the traitors have been properly punished, and sends a formal declaration of war."


	7. Chapter VI

_**A/N:**_ SephyRocks, thank you! Well, writing Sephiroth is addicting – the character is simply amazing. :D The more I write him, the more depth there is to him. :D

Anyhow, for the last segment… I believe Sephiroth had to have at least a slight glitch there, so, yeah... XD

* * *

_Chapter VI._

The silence in my office is drowsy, and the stack of papers on the edge of my desk doesn't help me shake off the enveloping desire to close my eyes and let everything go. I had a sleepless night, memories again, mainly those haunting me from childhood spent in the labs, but there were others, newer, sharper, arising behind my drooping eyelids with poignant lucidity.

Death.

Who, but me, knows more about it? Who, but me, was compelled to think about this part of natural cycle so often it caused headaches? After all, bringing death and not thinking about it is a luxury only artless can allow themselves.

When I was five or six, in the labs whereat I was always present like a silent shadow, a woman died; or, rather, I thought she was sleeping until Hojo explained me the meaning of death and return of the spirit energy a life form possesses whereto it initially belonged, and that is to the Planet itself. It never was a mystery henceforth and therefore hardly a subject of fear it is for many others, who don't understand. After that, I quickly grasped the importance of knowledge as well; it gives freedom, and a part of it is freedom from irrational fright people feel when facing the unknown and unexplainable.

In Hojo's opinion he tried to impose upon me, everything could be logically explained. Perhaps. Perhaps, not.

Silver locks meander between my fingers, spill onto the dark surface, as, having propped my head up with my hand, I lean onto the table top in search of a moment of thoughtless silence. It finally comes, that familiar nothingness I am used to feeling after numerous tests, the same one that once hid a childishly poignant sensation of being utterly useless. The uncertainty never bothered me after I fully comprehended the extent of my abilities. With a faint smile I straighten and, slightly squirming from unpleasantness of the sharp neon light, place my fingers onto the keyboard with intention to finish the report about our mission to the Wutai capital.

Tseng enters my office after a light knock on the door when I am done with barely half of my work. I know the Turks have been exigently dispatched to Wutai borders for espionage missions to prepare the ground for the main invasion – after all, the war is not fought in a day – but Tseng was left behind. There is a reason for that, I believe.

"They don't trust you enough, do they?" I quietly inquire instead of a greeting as the dark-haired Turk approaches my desk with reports for the new assignment. It seems today I will not be done with the office job quite as quickly as I am used to.

Tseng calmly shrugs, as composed as he was before, "They should. I have been with Shin-Ra for nearly half a year now and never gave them a reason for distrust."

The fact of the matter is that he was born in Wutai and, although being one of the best Turks already, inevitably faces misgivings his superiors have about his devotion to Shin-Ra cause.

The stack of papers slides onto my table, being added to the one already there. "Once you are done here, come to Lazard's office. He has another assignment in Corel before he wants you to set about inspecting the troops."

"In Corel?" I ask absent-mindedly, already flipping through pages of SOLDIER's profiles I am given to study. Nameless faces flash before my eyes, and I am not even trying to remember them all – blonde, brunette, green-eyed, dark-skinned, they will all go to war if I and others like me deem them physically and mentally fit. "A matter of what importance can possibly attract Shin-Ra's attention thereat?"

"A monster has been sighted by the coal mines, and SOLDIER was requested to deal with it."

SOLDIER was requested? The simplicity of the explanation, as plausible as it is, bothers me, inasmuch as I can hardly understand why I am being dispatched to a mission of such little significance. Perhaps, they have no one available. Or… can it be that Tseng is holding something back? Having moved the papers aside, I lean back in my leather chair, arms folded and eyes fixed on the slender frame clad in the dark suit. Tseng calmly sustains my gaze, and for an instant we are engrossed in a silent duel of willpowers that consumes us both, but it ends when a faint draught picks up a paper and slowly lowers it to the floor. I stoop to retrieve it and when I straighten, the dark-haired Turk is already leaving.

"There is something you have to understand, Sephiroth." Suddenly Tseng halts by the door, looks back as if his glance is meant to add more significance to what he has to say. "I chose, and now my loyalty lies not with Wutai, but with Shin-Ra. I have no regrets. I don't look back."

The door closes behind him with a thud, and I, having raised my head, suddenly realize it is almost time for my weekly appointments with Hojo. Reluctantly I arrange the papers on the table for my absence – likely I will not return until tomorrow – and thereafter with a key card in my hand slip out of the neon-lit office. The lock beeps, signifying that the door is secured, and in swift strides I head for the elevator.

I don't look back either.

…The access to Hojo's private lab on sixtieth floor is restricted, but I have the card that allows me to enter whenever I desire without having to wait for Professor's personal appearance. I hesitate for an instant, then resolutely wrap my fingers around the handle and swiftly fling the door open. The bright glitter of neon sprinkles every which way as I step over the threshold and into the small room, smaller than even my office. A boy with long silver hair enters with me, a shadow of the memory that came from the times I would rather forget, however, I can't. It reminds me of a long struggle between being _someone_ and a feeling I was just another impersonal _experiment_, a long fight, which at the very moment of my victory let me believe that mine was a special existence.

The boy is frightened. I am not.

I am feeling genuine fear so rarely now I nearly forgot its taste, its smell, and cold luster I associated with it from the times I was a child; or, rather, I was at the age of a child, for I was never allowed to be one.

The person responsible for the long years of my isolation is sitting at the table, as always engrossed in his work to a point that he either doesn't notice my presence or doesn't wish to show it. I near a cylinder-like device, empty this time, until the glass throws back my image. Immaculately shaped, my features could have been an envy of any woman… or so Genesis asserts with another jocose smile of his, a spark of which is always reflected in his eyes, and whereof I find it hard not to think at least once in a while.

"Good day, Professor."

"Ah, Sephiroth," no longer able to pretend I am not there, Hojo echoes at once, "I have been expecting you. Have a seat. He-he."

A rasping chuckle fills lifeless silence, in answer to which I cast a glance over my shoulder. Hojo's face is now a vague spot between scattered silver tresses, his features twisted into a somewhat condescending expression; whatever words I wanted to say die on my tongue, and I turn back to scrutinizing the transparent glass cylinder whereat numerous experiments on mako have been performed.

Or, rather, a substance that has been named mako after it no longer was popular to call it spirit energy.

I think of it often. Someone's shattered memories, someone's lost hopes and dreams that were never fulfilled, all of it has a chance to live again, through us. Nature has many miracles, some undeniably alluring even just to think about, and with time it becomes harder and harder to deny my thirst to know about them.

"Sephiroth, I don't have all day," the unpleasant voice rings in my ears, reminding wherefore I came here. Returning to Hojo's desk deliberately slowly, I notice he is holding a syringe in his hand and the usual glass flask stands empty by his right side. The routine. I extend my arm with a vacant expression on my face – I made sure of that – and it doesn't change when I feel a slight prick and a cold sensation of needle sliding under my skin.

When my blood is transferred to the flask, Hojo reaches for the papers he needs to fill out. It is a routine as well, same questions all the time, same answers. I don't remember when it was the last time anything changed in the monotony of my meetings with Hojo.

"Have you experienced any of the most common side-effects? Fatigue?"

My response is a nearly perfectly automatic, "No."

"Temporary memory loss?"

"No."

"Battle rage?"

I dispassionately shake my head. Aside from slight headaches from the first injections a long time ago, I have never experienced any negative side-effects many other SOLDIERs are prone to. I was created to accept large dosages of mako without being poisoned, a perfect SOLDIER it seems. Gloved fingers of my free hand clench under the table, words I let slip ring with more coldness than I usually allow myself in professor's presence, "Am I done for now?"

Another amused chuckle, an expression whose meaning is so perspicuous to me I find it annoying, I dismiss, restraining a surge of feelings I have a rather feeble control over today.

"I have to finish the test. You are not in a hurry, are you?"

I rise to take two steps towards the cylinder-like device confided to Hojo's care, then turn around and take the same two steps backwards. My eyes seem to be watching the floor, yet my thoughts are elsewhere. I lack patience to wait for the test results as well and hence remind my _father_ politely, yet without any warmth, "I have another assignment today, and it is urgent."

Opaque eyes study me for a moment with that never-changing vacant look in their depths, and I am the first one to avert my face simply because I dislike looking at the man.

"Impatient today, eh? Patience is a virtue, my boy." Was he trying to lecture me? I don't mind listening to advice that I have asked for, but I refuse to be preached at, notably by a person, whose significance and presence in my life is so fleeting I can hardly notice any.

I ignore Hojo's words. Not that I honestly ever expected or wanted him to become a penitent father, but I still occasionally wondered how much this man knew about me, and by that I didn't imply height, weight and blood type any curious scientist could have discovered by perusing the papers. Was he ever genuinely proud of my achievements without seeing just success of his next experiment? Has he ever bothered to think what literature I studied in my free time or what dreams I desired to achieve?

The glass of a cylinder coldly flares up in sharp neon light as, arms crossed behind me, I take another pair of pointless steps.

Hardly.

There was no one to be proud of my achievements, but myself.

At long last, Hojo is done, and I am free to take my leave. There is not an extra moment I am willing to spare for that man, disappearing behind the closed door as soon as he announces that the tests results are normal.

Hojo and I will never have anything in common, remaining irreconcilable parts of what could have been a whole if he decided to be my father.

I have come to accept that fact, yet sometime before that I longed to meet my mother.

_Mother…_

This is one of those lifeless words, whose meaning I never knew.

* * *

Later in the day I am sent to Corel for that insignificant mission Tseng mentioned earlier, and, despite being preoccupied with thoughts about the war, I welcome the change. After all, life didn't end with the outbreak of hostilities.

This time I am accompanied by two Second class SOLDIERs in case we run into desert monsters, not that I feel any true need for them or welcome their company. They couldn't be older than seventeen, but we have so little in common I have no desire to converse with them. Their idle chatter blends with the noise of the rotating airscrews as the helicopter leaves Midgar far below, and I resume my thoughtless watching of motley landscape underneath, a pastime I prefer to far too many.

I only regret I didn't have time to see Genesis before my sudden departure for the reason of being kept by Hojo. The kiss we shared in my hotel room begot more questions than answers, but I can't say that I didn't want it. Nor can I say I wouldn't want it in future; however, doubts come thick upon me, only I find it hard to explain them even to myself.

We land in the desert a little more than an hour after we left Midgar. The air here is hot, filled with sand, and the sun seems to be a white-hot iron ring hanging above the horizon. Raising clouds of dust, the helicopter that brought us here rises to disappear in bright-azure expanse, and I shield my eyes with my hand, feeling weightless sand grains slide along the back of my palm.

When my small group nears the settlement itself, at first but a vague shape cloaked in sandy dust so that miniscule details are concealed even from my nearly perfect sight, it appears to be sordid and insipid – nothing like the capital of Wutai with its regal edifices– as I in truth expected. We enter it silently, unnoticed and unheard, slip through the tortuous labyrinth of streets in the same way we came, two SOLDIERs slightly behind me. Most buildings in Corel are lopsided, rarely attracting my attention, and here and there I notice the visible smirches of black dust, coal dust. The throng in the streets pays us no heed, and, watching it, I wonder if the overall paucity of colors, decorations, and diversity could be a sign of parsimony rather than misery.

This time, I am given precise location of the cave therefore I don't need any assistance from local Shin-Ra representatives.

"Is anyone tired?" I halt to ask after we passed the central square, quite boisterous for this late hour. The cave is supposedly located outside the town, and I would prefer not to arrive at its entrance with a tired group of SOLDIERs under my command. However, my misgivings prove to be pointless as both of them simultaneously shake their heads.

"No, Sir." The light-haired adds, attempting a grin, which fades, as there is no response on my face or in my eyes, a custom I don't think I shall ever forgo unless a person means something to me. As I set out to continue towards the cave, I can still hear words slowly fading in my keen ears, "This Sephiroth is a little unfriendly, don't you think?"

"Be quiet! He could still…"

I shrug, deep inside me feeling nothing at this astute observation, inasmuch as I am not here to entertain any of them or converse about quotidian issues. We are on a mission and after it we will hardly ever see each other again, aside from, perhaps, a chance encounter in a mess or a hallway; I don't even bother asking their names, although they are obviously aware of mine.

I lift up my eyes to the skies, and noticing the almost viewless crescent of a newborn moon hiding underneath transparent whiteness of clouds, mend my already brisk pace; I don't feel like prolonging this minute assignment more than it should have lasted.

… The entrance to the cave is, just like I was told, outside the settlement. It avidly gapes its toothless mouth towards the vastness of the sand desert, and it looks akin to the monster I am hunting today. The thin streamlet runs into darkness – I hear it purl ever so faintly; a rare occasion it is, to see one in this desert. The monster has to be one of those acrophies, a half-turtle, half-crab looking creatures, which dwell near waters and in damp and dark caves as this one. It doesn't take much effort to remember what I know about the beasts, their vulnerability to back attacks and high resistance to manipulative magic; although quite strong, the monster is at the same time slow, and I decide to deal with it alone.

"Wait here." I gesture towards the thin pillar of a desiccated plant and, without waiting for an answer, plunge into indigo-hued dampness.

The cave is smaller than I thought it would be, so I unsheathe my katana almost at once, watching opalescent glow play along the thin band of my blade. Steps cautious and slow, I descend along the streamlet that meanders clenched between the slick wet rocks, discerning faint crystalline ringing among the murmur of splashing waves.

Could it be a natural pool of crystallized mako?

I don't have time to find the answer to my question as the monster appears suddenly from the veil of darkness in front of me, moving faster and quieter than it should with its bulky body on short crab-like legs; caught slightly off-guard, I am able to shield myself with the blade, but the force of acrophies' attack throws me off balance and onto the sharp stone. Something cold cuts my forearm, a thin streamlet tickles my skin, but I pay in no heed, jumping to my feet and dodging another swing of a claw. It lands on the wall behind me, splashing stones as if they were harmless water droplets; the monster hisses with anger, turning its hulk to face me, but not fast enough.

Throwing the heavy mass of silver off my shoulders and face – it does hinder me in battle at times – I leap up in the air, having hovered above the acrophie for an instant, and land on its back. The blade of my katana pierces its solid shell with almost no effort and to the deafening howl I spring aside before the monster attacks me again. I land on a ledge slightly above the scene and calmly watch my adversary collapse onto the ground with another loud groan, this time to never utter another sound or move again. I was able to transfix its heart.

Dark-green blood is dripping from my blade, so I take time to wash it in the streamlet that runs further into darkness I do not feel like exploring, inasmuch as my mission is done. Having decided to treat my scratch later, I head back for the exit.

SOLDIERs from my group wait whereat I told them to; my steps light, I approach unnoticed, without interrupting the enthusiastic discourse they seem to be engrossed in, whereupon scraps of it reach my ears.

"… no, instructor Masumi loves chocobo racings, he even keeps pictures of different winners on the wall above his nightstand. I bet he even owns one and it's yellow."

"A yellow chocobo?" A curt laugh follows. "Nah, this is even better. I heard Genesis was using body lotion with oil of cloves. I always thought he looked like a girl. Suits him right."

"Who told you that?"

There is a pause before the answer, and thereat I find myself thinking that even if Genesis does use a body lotion with the smell of cloves, they are going to regret making remarks like those.

"Derek. He claims to have been to Genesis' apartments and…"

"You just don't like him, admit it, Pierce," the light-haired SOLDIER triumphantly interrupts, "because he reprimanded you a week ago for being a muddler and dropping the fire materia and before that for..."

"That wasn't my fault! I…" Then the dark-haired SOLDIER finally notices I've been watching both of them and emits a constrained startled cry. "S-sephiroth, Sir!"

At once, hands fly up to the temples, postures straighten, and only eyes look everywhere but at me.

"Sorry, Sir," the other mumbles with even less resolve. Do they think mere words like that will be enough?

"You will make an apology to Genesis and I will personally ask him if you did."

"Y-yes, Sir!" Their frantic nods tell me a lot more than the terse words, and my piercing gaze leaves them embarrassed and blushing anew. Then, cautiously, a remark passes the brunette's lips as if to amend his previous miscue. "Y-your forearm is b-bleeding…"

The SOLDIER essays, but even my displeased glance is able to cut him short, for I didn't request his care or all the more so his fear; and as I head out towards the city, clutching the scratch on my forearm, another hectic whisper reaches my ears before my long strides carry me too far away for even mako enhanced ears to discern the words.

"What do _I_ do now, Pierce? Do you think I should apologize to instructor Masumi?"

This time my lips twitch to take a shape somewhat akin to a smile.

… It is dark outside, when I am finally resting at the Corel inn. My phone lies lifeless by my side, the lid snapped shut – I have just made a call, requesting the helicopter, once the weak healing materia stopped the bleeding – and my eyes slowly slide along its glassy black surface, rising to the half-empty glass of water. My fingers move on the wooden table top in an absent-minded rhythm of their own, but, although thinking of nothing, I am not listening to neither of the loquacious men in vicinity and ignore meaningful glances some of the visitors shoot at me; while I am certain they don't know who I am, it is my silver hair that attracts attention.

Suddenly a man slips into the seat by my side so casually and confidently as if I was expecting him, but my guess would be he was expecting me.

"Sephiroth, isn't it? Glad to have met you in person." My premonition turns out to be correct when the sleek, dressed in immaculate black suit man offers his hand, "I am Isa, one of the reporters for the _Midgar Times_, the largest independent newspaper."

He says it, as if I am ignorant enough not to know what _Midgar Times_ is.

"And what does someone like you want of me?"

"You were among the investigators sent to Aichi reactor, weren't you?"

My answer is a slow nod, silver tresses touching my chest, yet my eyes never leaving those of the reporter. That this question would be asked of me, I should have expected as well, as any cover-up operation eventually begets more questions than it solves at the beginning; the thought is weary. It is useless and too late to deny the truth.

"I was."

"I am glad we reached mutual understanding, Sephiroth." Did we? A sarcastic thought is expressed in the arch of my silver eyebrow the journalist ignores. I must have missed that. "I… we don't want to ask for much, just tell us what really happened at Aichi."

"There was a flood."

The man in black utters an exasperated sigh, almost a groan of frustration, "Then where are the bodies? Why can't the relatives of those who perished at least be able to bury their beloved?"

I imperturbably shrug my shoulders, casting a sideward glance at the phone, wishing it would ring and thus relieve me of this tiresome and aimless conversation.

"I was an investigator with SOLDIER. My orders were to perform a check on the perimeter to search for the signs of struggle, and I found none. Where the bodies are now, concerns me little."

The reporter raises himself, now hovering above me in a rather menacing way; I am quiescent, indifferent, and it seems to fuel his vexation and anger even more. "I was sent there, I saw it with my own eyes. There was no flood, I know it, I _feel_ it. All I… we need is proof, Sephiroth. Give me proof, and…"

The phone rings, finally having interrupted us, and I pick it up despite the look on the reporter's face.

"Sephiroth," I have never been gladder to hear Lazard's voice, "the helicopter will be waiting for you in five minutes."

"Understood." I snap my phone shut and in turn rise to full height, fingers ghosting over the handle of my katana in an unambiguous manner… just in case the reporter does not understand words. "My apologies, but I must leave."

"Just tell me how they died."

I do not respond, believing our discourse to have come to an end, and calmly ignore the angry flash in Isa's eyes; visitors are staring at us now, whispering behind my back, and I hurry to open the door to avoid undesired attention. The reporter follows me into the night, whereupon halts, as if suddenly bereft of his previous obstinate fervor, and his voice rings almost pleadingly.

"Don't you think that people deserve to know the truth?!"

His cry breaks against my straight back, and silence of the twilight desert mercilessly swallows last echoes of his voice. I watch torn scraps of the darkening skies above as my feet carry me further and further away from the lone frame of a man still standing on a narrow pathway. Boots evenly tread on cool sand, and with each step a thin cloud rises into the air.

Dust.

Shin-Ra concealed the truth for a reason; I might not utterly agree with their solution, but I don't have to. Serving it is my innate duty, and whatever ideals this journalist deems to be _right_, to my rational mind they are quite alien.

I believe in what Shin-Ra does, and even if my loyalty is not unquestionable, betraying it is not what anyone can expect from me.

* * *

When I arrive at the main Shin-Ra building around midnight, the day's surprises are still far from over, inasmuch as I find Genesis waiting for me by the door to my quarters; I wonder for how long. The vacillations I was able to forget return again when shining azure eyes find mine, and I know – no, rather, feel – he is hiding something in those smoldering cerulean embers and faint jocose smile. Something? A question? An explanation of our sudden attraction?

I was able to avoid thinking about him during the day, the mission, and other trifles, but the path to escape is now cut and with the most seductive voice I have ever heard in my life.

"You made me wait for too long, Sephiroth."

"You wanted something?" I make my voice sound nonchalant, yet the endeavor is, likely, futile, as my friend is good at reading people. Then a sudden thought occurs to me, and I ponder over it for a moment – we might no longer be friends.

"Aren't you going to let me in first?"

The apartment is dark, but flares up with soft yellow light – a relief to my eyes from the sharpness of neon – after I turn the lamp on, yet not before Genesis' hand slides along my thigh, frightened away with the snap of the switch.

His grimace is clearly frustrated.

"I was sent to Cosmo Canyon today on a mission unworthy of my attention. Can you imagine bothering a First Class SOLDIER of my caliber to settle what appeared to be an argument between two Shin-Ra employees?" While Genesis is talking, his voice now heard from my guest room, I take off my boots and shake the sand out of them. "But this is not all that had happened to me today."

So Genesis was sent away as well? I straighten my waist-length hair, leaving it loosely cascading over my shoulders, and slowly enter the guest room, having leaned against the doorway before my legs decide otherwise and carry me towards my redheaded friend.

"What of Angeal?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen him around." Genesis lolls on my couch, but even in his relaxed posture there is elegance; or at least insofar as it is possible to look graceful, sitting with legs tucked up. "I wonder if he was sent somewhere as well and encountered a reporter as I did, although I think it had to be just you and me."

"So you were approached…"

Genesis' pendant earring flashes at me from scattered auburn tresses, akin to his dazzling smile, as he throws his head back onto the cushion of my black leather couch. "They wanted to ask about Aichi, Sephiroth. They are hot on the heels of Shin-Ra, don't you find?"

"What if they are?" I reply with indifference, at the same time devouring the sight in front of me with my eyes, fighting an urge to join him on the couch and not knowing why I am fighting this familiar desire to touch him again. My head falls onto my chest, and then there is only silver to watch. "I was asked the same question today when I was in Corel. It seems they tracked us down when we were outside Midgar, but they are just wasting their time and manpower. I am not telling anything about Wutai involvement in the incident."

"I thought so." Anew, I lift my head, drawn to the demanding glance of haughty azure eyes without much thought or conscious effort. "If I divulged nothing, you wouldn't all the more so. But… see this for yourself…" Having picked up a remote, he presses the power button and adds before the desired channel is found. "And, for Gaia's sake, do not stand in the doorway like a stuffed dummy!"

I flinch at the sound of his voice, more frustration than demand hidden in its melodic notes, and finally find resolve to move. The couch caves underneath me as I take a seat, at once finding the redhead's arm as though casually wrapped around my shoulders. Torn between a strong desire to revel in his warmth and watch television, I can't pay much attention to what is going in the news, remembering only vague pictures and certain words spoken from the screen as the redhead continues changing the channels every few seconds until he finally turns my TV off again and hurls the remote aside.

"It is everywhere, you see. On every single channel they are talking about the beginning of war. It's like the world ended or something." He grins, drawing closer until there is no extra inch between us, and I can smell his luscious hair – indeed with a tinge of cloves to its rich scent – scattered on my shoulder. "But to hell with Shin-Ra and their machinations. I didn't wait for you just to tell that the President has probably made a floater this time."

Fingers plunging into short silver tresses framing my face, he raises himself a little on his knee and with that hauntingly fiery spark in his eyes brings our lips together. His mouth is warm on mine, and gentle in sloth, reciprocal in simplicity, the kiss soon engulfs me, gaining roughness when the redhead's tongue demands entrance. I allow it, opening my lips to his in curiosity for the unfamiliar but obviously pleasant sensations I have never experienced hitherto, aside from that one brief time in my hotel room. This time uninterrupted, it lasts longer, its passion deeper, less controlled as the redhead bites at my lower lip with what sounds like a faint moan of sheer delight.

There is this softness again, irresistible taste that is Genesis, and it seeps through my mouth into my blood, hotter, stronger, rougher as a touch of a slender hand follows his slick tongue; warmth sparks up whereat bare skin meets skin, but a flare of something else joins it when persistently the redhead's fingers slide underneath my black turtle neck, pass over my chest, dive under the belt to undo it.

I feel control over myself slip out of my grasp and dissipate with slow caresses, leaving me panting, vulnerable… _weak_.

I have never felt that helpless and controlled – even if by an emotion – since those years spent in the labs.

I can not... I...

I draw away abruptly, breaking our embrace, and face a confused Genesis, his lips parted half from delight, half from bewilderment. His breath is hot and quick on my neck, fingers still underneath my turtleneck, and I resolutely free his hand, having straightened out my crumpled clothes. Thereupon I rise swiftly despite the redhead's futile attempt to stop me by clenching my hand in his.

"Where are you going?"

"I think it's best that you leave now, Genesis, it is getting late." I offer a calm excuse with my back to him – likely, since I cannot see him, my voice is so level – but it is hard to reason with my redheaded friend or… lover. He leaps up to his feet, facing me anew, his posture stiff, gaze burning holes through my face, and justified umbrage and disappointment it is only I cannot offer him any explanation. I can _not_.

"I don't understand. One moment you are fine, kissing, and the next you behave, like… like a virgin."

That does it. A cold wave sweeps over me, as I take two abrupt steps away from him, straightening at once and clenching my fingers in a rigid fist. What if I am? What did he truly expect of me? To see a…a… no, this is beyond me. Questions like an avalanche bury me underneath the surge of barely controlled emotions, those I am not even trying to distinguish, but indignation among them is the strongest.

As if there is a steel rod inside me, every step willfully stiff, sharp, I leave the room, ignoring the redhead's angered yell, "Sephiroth, wait!" and halt only when the door to my bedroom cuts every light from the hallway and I am in the darkness, alone. Fingers search for support as I slowly take a seat on my bed, uncertain of what I have done, of why it wounded me as much or what I am to do next; unwilling to think before I calm down.

A moment later an angry slam is heard at the front door.

So much for the first… second kiss.


	8. Chapter VII

_**A/N:**_ SephyRocks, thank you so much yet again! Yes, this is a long story, for it appears Sephiroth is my favorite character as well. I hope I will never ruin him. ;D

This chapter is shorter, since I have a lot to cover in the next one, but I hope you will enjoy it.

* * *

_Chapter VII._

The familiar coolness of leather wrapped around my fingers creaks ever so faintly when I clench the handle of my katana with more force than I usually do and give it a swing. The dazzlingly bright arc of my blade falls through the unyielding air, lightning-like. It helps, watching the dark backs erupt in sparks and shatter against the onrush so fast that every monster but one perishes. It helps not to think much.

It helps not to think about Genesis.

Perhaps, it is vain to attempt any relationship with the redhead, for I wasn't created for love, only battlefields and bloodshed; it seems easier to take a life, even if an artificial one.

I cut short my thought as a thread, focus on the last surviving monster circling me with an avid gleam in its glassy eyes; the tip of my blade points to its snout, and involuntarily my movements mirror the beast's. I wait for it to jump, and thoughts slowly return to my friend anew. I remember he was seeing someone in Midgar shortly before we kissed for the first time. My fingers clutch the handle with even more force until they grow numb; I lose patience to wait and in a surge of cold ire, breach the distance between us in one long stride, impaling the artificial creature on my katana. Flaring, it cascades in myriads of harmless sparks, and sudden outburst of anger abates when the last of them fade in semi-darkness of the training room.

I don't think we were serious, likely, yielding to a surge of curiosity although I admit it was very unusual for me to feel that way about anyone; therefore I can hardly demand devotion from the ever so frivolous soul Genesis is. Perhaps, it is for the best if we end it now, remaining friends like we were before I found myself attracted to him and, apparently, he – to me.

The door to the training room opens, and for a split second I expect – want – to see Genesis, but it is Angeal, who, likely, understood that something had happened between me and his childhood friend.

"What is the matter with the two of you?"

It appears I was right. With an inaudible sigh, I sheathe my katana and cancel the training program with few precise keystrokes on my portable terminal.

"We had a small disagreement." I give my older friend a calm shrug of my shoulders, watching his face for certain signs I learned to tie to the typical human reactions, however, being insufficiently able to read emotions, I do not know whether my answer satisfied him or not.

"From what Genesis told me, it is not so insignificant to him."

Although I seemed to have decided to forget about us kissing, Angeal's words elicit excitement against my will. Could it be that I was wrong, thinking it was meaningless or, worse, a form of light entertainment? Even so, it doesn't explain why I felt so many conflicting emotions, as it wasn't just my misgiving, but a deeper conflict within myself I have never experienced before. Thoughtful, I walk past Angeal to hide a frown on my face, "Then why didn't he come to me instead?"

"If you believe he told me a lot more than you did, you are wrong, but I thought I could help. Only there is nothing I can do while you both are being stubborn."

I can understand Genesis' obstinacy as this misunderstanding is ours to resolve or fail to do so, and there is nothing Angeal can help us with, even with the best intentions; besides, he has his dying father to worry about, so shifting my troubles onto him will be more than unfair.

"I appreciate what you are trying to do, Angeal, but I have to talk to him myself."

I wish I knew what to say, since apologies will not express what I felt and, moreover, I don't believe I have done anything I should apologize for.

"Huh, you know," there is obvious mirth in my older friend's voice, "Genesis told me the same thing, only he added that I should _try_ talking to you."

I return his smile and, however faint, it is sincere, flickering in the corners of my lips until another thought flashes in my mind.

"By the way," although it is in the back of my mind now, buried deep beneath my troubles with Genesis, I cannot completely forget about Aichi and reporters, "where were you yesterday?"

Angeal doesn't appear to be surprised, but, rather, as though he expected to be inquired about this particular matter.

"I wanted to ask the same question, but since you asked first, I was here all the time, searching for you."

So Genesis and I were the only ones sent away… I make a mental note for myself to look into it deeper after my misunderstanding with the redhead will be resolved.

"I was dispatched to Corel to deal with an acrophie, and Genesis was…"

"In Cosmo Canyon, I know."

Genesis and I also were the ones sent to Aichi previously.

"Do you know where Masumi is?"

"The infirmary released him two days ago; he'll be in the field today, inspecting the troops. Why do you need him?"

I slowly nod, eyes narrowed, "I wish to know whether he was sent anywhere, but I think it is highly unlikely he was. Still, asking will not hurt."

"What are you getting at?"

"Humph, it is nothing." I am already by the threshold when the question rings in my ears, and, sweeping the card through the slit, I speak more to myself than to my older friend. "Nothing yet."

* * *

I had hoped I would get time to speak with the redhead before I was sent to inspect the troops, but it was always easier said than done. During the day we usually have short breaks, but they are not long enough to solve issues of any importance, therefore I decide to wait until evening.

The troops are assembled on the field near a small suburban city of Kalm, and the helicopter, as usually, delivers me there. This time I went with Masumi; he was the second SOLDIER injected with mako after me, but since I was a lot younger and less experienced, he ended up being my instructor. After all, my title wasn't something I received with my birth; it was only after hours of hard training, sweat, and blood, after hours spent studying weapons, strategies, and science that I was finally able to stand whereat I proudly stand now, among the best.

From where I was dropped, I can see Midgar, and its enormous structure is a black spot against the halcyon skies; a dot, which is, however, with my perfect sight quite discernable. It is strange to think of it this way, but once I am under the plates, effervescent life unfolds around me with Shin-Ra building at its center; yet, the further I am, the less significant the details seem, and with them disappears the importance of its existence.

"I think we should start with the introduction."

Masumi looks tired, but it is expected – he has just recovered from a very serious, life-threatening injury. Before we boarded the helicopter, he briefly apologized for obstructing my decision to post sentries at Aichi, a matter whereof I forgot by now. At least, he had strength to admit his own failure.

I approach an older man in lieutenant's uniform, which is different from the uniforms SOLDIERs wear; regular army units are for those who never made it into SOLDIER, having showed weak performance or rejected the mako injections. Either way, the recently developed elite is closed to them, so I am not surprised by the cold nod I am greeted with.

"Lieutenant Clark," Masumi's voice fills the awkward pause, "this is Sephiroth, the newest First and in future – your superior assigned to this unit."

Outwardly composed, the first lieutenant straightens with a blank expression on his face, but I feel - I _know_ – there will be discipline problems at the beginning. "I understand, Sir." Then he turns, giving me a once-over; albeit professional, it is also inimical and mistrustful. "Follow me."

Lazard told me there would be around five units under my command – the exact number is still to be decided on the military council scheduled within the next few days – while the whole army would be led by Masumi. Genesis, Angeal, and a couple of other Firsts are expected to be dispatched to Wutai as well; however, I am certain that Lazard and other executives will be influential on the course of battles to come as well. I cannot deny I have high hopes for this war, inasmuch as it will finally allow me to show the full extent of my preeminent abilities; there is more, however, as conquering Wutai echoes my inner call to dominate. After all, I didn't endure all the lab torment for nothing; it was for a reason.

Meanwhile, we are slowly walking along the dark line of soldiers, who stand at attention, their identical helmets glistening in the rays of midday sun. Looking at them, I cannot shake off a thought about them being nameless and faceless pawns, and yet know that it is beyond me to treat them like those.

As we pass one third of the unit, Clark stops and loudly calls out, "Second lieutenant Madison!"

A man steps out of the straight row, removes his helmet and freezes with familiar vacant look in his eyes, gaze riveted on the distant line of the horizon.

"Yes, Sir!"

The procedure is repeated when we reach the end of the straight line. After being called by his name, second lieutenant Evans makes a step forward with that same, "Yes, Sir!"

"These are officers under my direct command," Clark then speaks to me, "and you are welcome to talk to them any time you find opportune… Sir. My men _trust_ them."

I take it as an innuendo that they don't trust me. My eyes find two faces among faceless mass of so many more I do not know, and I cannot say my self-reliance is as firm as it was before. I have never had a unit as large as a hundred men under my command; here I am given a thousand although the first time is always the hardest.

A memory resurfaces in my mind, lucid contours of a narrow dark room flicker before my eyes, and I halt, fighting a haunting image of a silver-haired boy with a bloodied katana towering above the body helplessly sprawled at his feet. It was my first human victim. Thereat and later in darkness, in almost suffocating solitude, a futile question rankled my heart – why. I never asked it aloud. I never found an answer to it myself, being compelled to be satisfied with but one insufficient guess – strong win, and weak lose.

"Is something wrong?" It is Masumi, and I slightly flinch at the sound of his voice as it tears me out of oblivious pensiveness.

"No." I shake my head, having finally contrived to overpower haunting images, "I would like to see them performing regular drills."

"Of course, Sir," Clark's face is but a polite mask. "Follow me."

* * *

By the time I am finally home, my uniform is dusty and unpleasantly so; dust is tangled in my hair, dust crunches in my boots, and even the shining blade of my katana is dimmed from weightless specks of dust.

Having cleaned my uniform and taken a refreshing shower, I return to my guest room with intention to call Genesis, however, stop dead in my tracks the moment I notice him sitting on my couch and studying pamphlets about Wutai military tactics with profound interest. Knowing an enemy is half of a victory, I was taught, but I understand the importance of being prepared regardless of anyone's words, therefore often return to my studies.

"You read them all the time," Genesis remarks as casually as you please, having put the book onto the glass table pages downward. It is so befitting his character, to lose his temper and then pretend nothing had happened. "No wonder you are…"

"… the best," I offer to finish the sentence for him, eyes narrowing into slits and meeting his in defiance he does not return. Azure glance dims with thought, roving around my scarcely decorated room, and then – as though reflecting his sudden surprise – finds me standing by the threshold.

"Maybe. Maybe, not." He rises with a dramatic sigh, and I notice he is not wearing his usual uniform, having exchanged it for a loose scarlet shirt atop the black SOLDIER pants tucked into heeled boots; neither am I or, rather, I am wearing barely anything, only a long white towel wrapped around my waist. "Tell me, Sephiroth, what happened yesterday?"

The indignation returns as I watch him near one of my bookshelves, slender, movements graceful, flaunting refined lines of his body under the cloth. He makes it sound as it is solely my fault.

"I am not explaining anything until I understand – what it means. All of it."

"Humph. Indeed." He echoes absent-mindedly, long fingers passing over the back of the books, but it doesn't escape me, the way he avoids my gaze. "But why don't you change first? You are too much of a temptation. Like that."

The redhead's voice fades, however, not before I discern a note of slight frustration. Shaking my head, I silently head towards my bedroom; wet silver is heavy on my bare shoulders, so I take some time to dry it before I slip into a set of comfortable pajamas.

When I return, my guest room is dark, but streaks of light quiver on the walls by the kitchen door, whereto I head certain I will find Genesis there.

The redhead sits on the chair, legs crossed, drinking water from the glass. I join him in my kingdom of glass and steel – such was his first impression of my kitchen – with a small cup in my hands. Genesis knows I am here, but his eyes remain hidden from mine, riveted on slender fingers twiddling the vessel for water until he suddenly throws his auburn head back, as if having found the resolve he lacked, and straightforwardly confesses.

"I like you. I liked you for a long time, but, thinking we were friends only… doesn't matter. Now that you know, think before you answer." He shifts his glance back to the table, as if there is something interesting to study on the refulgent, almost glassy surface.

I find myself perplexed, the feeling hiding deep within me, yet struggling to appear on my face even when I don't want it to; therefore, I take up on Genesis' offer to think for a moment.

I didn't expect to hear something so sincere and genuine, yet I can't say I don't welcome it. On the contrary, I feel a strange surge of joy I am still a bit reluctant to admit to myself and express freely, but now I am a lot more willing to forget about the words the redhead spoke yesterday.

"But what…" I begin only to be interrupted with unexpected haste.

"I don't want more than you are willing to offer yourself." I nod, resting my forehead against my hand, but Genesis hasn't finished yet. "It brings me back to the question… what is it that _you_ want, Sephiroth?" I wish I had as straightforward answer as Genesis gave me before. I only understand I no longer want it – what we began – to end as I thought in the training room just this morning. "I thought we wanted the same, but yesterday… I don't understand… I thought about it all this morning, and I am sorry I called you a virgin, I shouldn't have because your childhood was different from ours."

"Apologies accepted," I finally force myself to speak, feeling that if I don't say anything, my reticence would offend Genesis again.

Genesis sighs with relief, then puts the glass aside and reaches out to cover my hand with his fingers; they are warm on my palm, yet warmth is somehow fragile, as it is easy to forfeit it or frighten it away if I don't find a way to satisfy his curiosity or rectify the mistake which , likely, has wounded his pride. And I know how touchy he could be when it is his arrogance that is involved.

"Then there is only one question left. Why did you leave? Didn't you enjoy kissing me?"

I turn my hand over so that now our fingertips are touching, lightly, almost as if the touch is not there, and make another of those almost painful efforts to speak.

"I did. Believe it or not, my reaction has nothing to do with you." I wish I can promise I will never walk away like that. Water fills my dry mouth, helping me to find the right words and finish my awkward confession. "It has to do with me, the suddenness of it, and the unexpected feeling of weakness…" By the time I finish it is me who is studying the table.

"What did they do to you?" Genesis' usually melodic voice is sharp, full of anger and power I haven't hitherto heard.

I rise to rinse the empty glass and put it back into the cupboard, an excuse not to look at the redhead's face, and utter my words to the wall.

"Nothing I haven't accepted yet."

"How… how can you be so patient, so indifferent, so…" in his umbrage, Genesis soon finds himself at a loss of better words. I shrug my shoulders, inwardly strangely undisturbed, as this time my friend's feelings are alien to me and words – lifeless. Why should I resent it?

"When you say my childhood was different, I do not understand what you mean. Or, rather, my understanding is superficial."

I often think my understanding of this world is superficial, for some matters are like pictures of a foreign country I have never been to – I see them, but don't realize how it feels to walk on white sand or breathe the air, tinged with salt – but at the same time, in other matters my understanding is more profound than of anyone my age. Precocious child, I was often spoken of like that in the labs, the term scientific, cold, nothing like Genesis' arms gently wrapping around my waist and warmth creeping up my back.

"The smell of your hair… it is so alluring… never thought it would smell like that…" The redhead's seductive whisper is hot in my ear, soft skin brushing against the earlobe, tempting me to dare for more.

For a moment. I recall the sensation that distressed me yesterday, but nothing of the sorts happens when our lips join in the reciprocally desired kiss. His whole body leans into mine, as if asking for acceptance, and my back ends up resting against the side of my cupboard; not for long, inasmuch as we switch over as soon as the kiss deepens. Trapped between my thighs and the wall, the redhead is not insistent, letting me guide him as I choose, and this time my hands are first to slide underneath his silken shirt in search for smooth, hot skin. Lips locked and tongues entwined, we take time and slowly explore every flexure of each other's bodies with our fingers. Then, leaving one hand wrapped around the redhead's waist, I reach for the buttons with the other. The upper one slides between my fingers, yielding to expose a strip of goldish skin between two lapels of scarlet, a contrast I find splendid.

Genesis takes a deep breath, head thrown back and burning sapphires half-hidden between thick fringe of dark lashes, but he waits patiently until I finish my contemplation although his chest heaves visibly faster. I am, however, not in a hurry, following the narrow pattern on his chest and stomach until all buttons come undone.

Watching does not satisfy me for long; lips follow fingers, tracing lines on the curve of his neck, then collarbone, unhurriedly sliding lower and letting me taste his unexpectedly tender skin. Heat of passion begins seething in me of a different kind than the last time, for it is now Genesis, who convulsively clutches my shoulders, fingers snatching at scattered silver tresses; it is now Genesis, who faintly moans when, guided by his free hand, my lips find a darkening knob of his nipple, and my tongue wraps around it, playing, teasing. It is now Genesis, who trembles, sending shivers through my body, and whose whisper is stuck in his throat, "Don't… stop…" A whisper, almost a plea. I draw back a little, and when the sight of my first lover appears before my eyes, just one thought is coherent in my mind: What a delightful view disarrayed Genesis is.

This time, I control it.

A smirk flits across my face, as I passionately leech onto his lush, slightly swollen mouth, pushing his lithe lips apart to feel the inner heat. Much lighter than me, Genesis throws his left leg over mine without losing balance or breaking our embrace; I hitch his hips up until both of us are comfortable, unable to resist to run my palms along their elegant lines again. The redhead responds by slipping his persistent and warm hands underneath my light pyjama top and stroking my back whereat they could reach.

We are engrossed in caressing each other to a point that when our phones simultaneously beep, we don't even flinch; then the sound slowly registers in my mind, and with a loud groan of frustration I tear myself away from kissing Genesis. The redhead's grimace is, likely, a mirror of my own when he shoots a glance at his phone and angrily hurls it onto my kitchen table.

It's Lazard. What _now_? He couldn't have chosen the worst time, however, I ineluctably have to obey.

"Sephiroth," having flipped my phone open, I name myself, hoping my voice is level.

"Come to the President's office immediately and don't forget to tell Genesis if you see him." Not that I expected him to say: '_Come to my office whenever you can._' "We have a possibility of a serious security breach."

I hang up and briefly retell Lazard's orders to the redhead.

"Oh, that's just great!" His words are almost a moan, but his fingers are already buttoning the scarlet shirt. "Here I was hoping I can have a quiet evening with you. What a vain hope! Who cares about their security breaches?"

Now I cannot disagree.

"Wait for me until I change," I fling out a remark as composed as possible after such a sudden outburst of passion. Genesis bites at his lower lip and nods, trying to order his hair. I don't know if I look the same, but the redhead certainly looks flustered.

… We are in the President's office barely ten minutes later, having found Veld, Lazard and a very angry Arthur Shin-Ra thereat. The spacious room bears clear signs of his ire: Shards of a broken glass lie scattered on the floor, and his massive table is moved aside from its usual position. He appears to be greatly perturbed by something; Veld and Lazard, on the other hand, look nonchalant in their immaculate suits.

"Can _someone_ here tell me how the news about the Aichi incident was leaked to the media? Veld?" The Turk leader is silent and the President moves to halt by the Director's frame. "Lazard?" Having received no answer anew, he passes by us without gracing with a single glance. "This is unacceptable. If I tell that the traces of the misconduct have to be erased, they have to be erased, and no indolence or incompetence will be tolerated. Isn't it why I hired you, Veld?"

"Certainly, mister President."

"The why, in Gaia's name, do I have to endure reporters lurking around, asking questions and jeopardizing the upcoming military campaign? I put a hard effort into winning media's attention to the _positive _outcomes of the Wutai war, and now the last thing I want is to be seen as a liar! Sephiroth!" He turns abruptly, switching his attention from the Turk leader to me. "What is the name of the newspaper whose reporter approached you in Corel?"

"Midgar Times," I reply in a prim manner.

"Genesis?"

"Channel three Midgar news," the redhead's voice rings with a touch of defiance.

"Veld! Find the most curious reporters and I _don't want_ to hear of them any time soon if ever. I want to evince to those insolents that if I said so, the issue would remain indubitable. And I don't want to know how you did it. I just want results!"

"Tseng will send preliminary reports tomorrow, Sir."

"I hope he will. And, Lazard, your task is to find out how the learned what SOLDIERs were on specific assignments outside Midgar. Perhaps, you have a traitor in your ranks."

"I assure you, mister President…"

"I don't want to hear it! Find the traitor and rid of him!" Choking with rampant ire, Arthur Shin-Ra picks up another glass and hurls it into the wall. It breaks with a doleful ding, and the shards join their twins on the carpet. "To think that all work I have done to hold this company together, to develop, and gain power can be endangered on the verge of such an important event as the war with Wutai; just the mere thought of it is ludicrous. Do you not understand that we need their money and their mako?"

I exchange glances with the redhead, and he unnoticeably shrugs, showing that it is the first time he hears of this part of Shin-Ra goals as do I.

"Dismissed."

Finally, the President relents and decides to vent his ire on something or someone else. The four of us swiftly leave his office before he changes his mind and head towards the elevator. The SOLDIER quarters are one floor lower than the apartments Lazard and Veld occupy, so, having remembered my previous suspicions, I hasten to ask the Director.

"Who issued an order to take care of the monster in Corel?"

Lazard is slightly surprised with my sudden inquiry, but answers nonetheless before we can no longer hear him from the elevator.

"Rufus Shin-Ra."

Rufus Shin-Ra, the famous Vice President and son of Arthur Shin-Ra… how and why would he be involved in this mess…

However, my thoughts fade before I can make any plausible conclusions, for as soon as the elevator starts its slow descent, Genesis' arms wrap around my shoulders, hungry and hot lips searching mine until I finally close my eyes and give in.


	9. Chapter VIII

_**A/N:**_ SephyRocks... much love to you as well. XD

* * *

_Chapter VIII._

"Sephiroth, I need to speak to you for a moment."

It is Lazard; I turn slowly, unwilling to express much curiosity although it is hard to admit I don't feel any. It is not necessarily the burning curiosity I had towards the outside world as a child – those days are long gone and partially effaced from my memory – but it is enough to make my silver eyebrow arch.

The military council – one of the many I will yet have to take part in – has just ended; I was allowed to make remarks, but the pundits on tactics and strategy were the first ones to be given word to. There was little my interference changed, but I certainly hope it will once we get to Wutai. We are currently dismissed until our army, divided into units, will be sent to the island on helicopters. As I suspected, I was given around five hundred men to my direct command, and my first objective is to assault and capture Fort Tamblin, one of the most fortified posts on the borderline. Both Genesis' and Angeal's units will be at some point joining mine as well, however, their tasks are to advance further into the enemy's terrain.

I didn't expect anyone, Lazard included, to need me until the deployment of the operation starts tomorrow.

I nod for my friends not to wait for me and join the Director in the hallway.

"Your inquiry about who issued the order to send you to Corel and Genesis – to Cosmo Canyon had me thinking…" Lazard pensively touches his glasses, his voice wavering with uncertainty. "Of course, you understand that the President's son is not easy to accuse and the matter could be rather nugatory… but…"

I certainly _understand_. "I had similar doubts. He was among the only ones who had access to that sort of information. If he had arranged the meeting with reporters…"

The Director heavily sighs. "That is what troubles me, but I'll look into it more… and of course I will keep you informed in case your and Genesis' help is required, especially as witnesses." His hand in white glove falls, he straightens, once again turning into imperturbable Director and politician he is known to be. "Until then there is little we can do… even bringing the matter to the President is highly unadvisable…"

I agree, only inhibit myself from saying anything else; I rarely share my opinion with anyone until my suspicions, however justified, turn into solid evidence. Even now I suspect Rufus had more to do with the incident than can be seen, but politics isn't something I will ever voluntary involve myself in.

Having thoughtfully followed Lazard with my eyes until he turned the corner, I direct my steps towards the elevator.

Before they let me go to Wutai, I have to undergo more unscheduled tests.

* * *

"So, you are going to war," again, Hojo's lab and again – my _father_ sitting in his chair asking me questions that only stir deep dissatisfaction. Professor seems extremely content with something I at first don't understand, yet he doesn't fail to express it. "I awaited this moment for such a long time, he-he. The Wutai will not hold for long, not against you."

My eyes rest on the desk, heaped up with the scattered papers; someone's names, faces, birthdates – I can see them all wherefrom I stand, and yet I near it, superficially thumb through the weightless sheets. They are all SOLDIERs, like myself scheduled for the tests to be selected and sent to Wutai. Nominally, each SOLDIER has to have a unit under his command, but it is not uncommon to see the weakest of the elite blending with the regular army.

"Why so?"

He laughs – if those shrill sounds can be called laughter. "You were born for this very glorious moment." The small bottles he was dawdling with emit a ding when he knocks one over and it shatters against the floor of the lab. With a curse Hojo bends over it, his greasy long hair swaying over his face, his white overall stretching on his bony shoulders as if about to be torn, a sight I find rather pitiful.

_Born for this glorious moment_, I think darkly; the memory of regal edifices in Wutai resurfaces, fills me with strange ennui, rather short but palpable for that indiscernible instant I let it linger. No matter.

My eyes shift to watch Hojo anew, and detached interest I feel is akin to the one I would watch an occasional passer-by with. As much as I once thought I didn't know about the outside world, with same certainty I understand now the doctor knows even less. It seems the lab is the only place Hojo ever spends his time at. I haven't seen him going anywhere much; aside from rare visits to the mess hall, I think he might be sleeping in it.

The unscheduled mako injection goes as smoothly as it always does; I stoically receive the usual dosage of the green substance, watching it disappear underneath my skin. Somehow scientists believe that the extra injections will keep my naturally high level of mako on the level that would make my performance optimal. I am not certain I even need those, but arguing with a scientist is even worse than arguing with my lover.

The thought elicits a smirk, and for a moment Hojo freezes, hovering above my arm, as though silently wondering why I allowed myself a wry smile.

I avail myself on the opportunity and move away ere he decides I need more injections or tests. When I am by the threshold, his voice stops me before I turn the handle to open the door.

I hope Hojo didn't expect warm farewells.

"By the way, don't forget to attend the supply room. They have a new blade and uniform prepared for you, so that everyone will distinguish you from afar."

Hojo utters it with some repressed pride, but pride nonetheless, and, having declined my head onto my chest, I move my shoulders sharply as the only sign I heard him. It makes no nevermind to Hojo whether I return or not; pithily, he doesn't even care whether I come back victorious or defeated.

Therefore, when I leave – even to a war – I never turn back.

* * *

We are sitting on the couch in my guest room, and subdued yellow light of the small lamp throws our shadows sharply against the wall. Genesis' head is resting on my knees, one hand casually thrown over his chest, the other – twiddling laces of my shirt.

These are last hours we are free to devote to personal matters, and it was the redhead's desire to spend whatever little time left with me.

I cast a covert glance at my lover's face, then at Masamune – the new sword Shin-Ra finally made for me – which now peacefully rests on the stand; each time my gaze falls onto the blade it lingers there with reminiscent admiration of sorts – the first time I've seen its deadly beauty, I was boundlessly impressed, and lately that rarely happens to me.

For a moment I forget even of Genesis lying on my lap, so vivid the image of the long thin arc flying through the air is – not that the redhead is ever willing to bear being ignored. Likely, he notices my vacant look and doesn't fail to rivet my attention to himself.

"Do you think we should tell Angeal?"

I draw a deep breath and, chuckling, plunge my hand into soft auburn tresses, let them slowly slide between my fingers, silk on my lips when I bend over the redhead, whispering, teasing, "I would like to see you try…"

He hears the notes in my voice, echoes with an enigmatic smirk that is incessantly roving on his lips this whole evening. "Angeal… mind you, I am not certain he should know anything, he might not understand…"

"You fear he might not approve of your – or my – choice?"

Genesis lifts his head until our eyes are level, azure a sparkling lightning between thick, dark lashes. "Do you think I am in need of his approval just because I am younger? If so…"

"I…"

"Don't interrupt me, Sephiroth." There is a warning in that usually smooth melodic voice, and I decide against persisting howbeit it wasn't what I meant by my words. "Angeal is too traditional to accept the thought his two best friends are as of lately… lovers. If you tell him exactly the way things are now, he might become judgmental… even if I am not really certain he will. But it is for better to let him in slowly…"

"How…"

There is another of this _Genesis'_ – I call them so – smirks on my lover's lips as he leans his weight on my shoulder. I call them _Genesis',_ for it is hard to describe what they are any other way – mischievous, sly, daring – all of this and yet more.

"Trust me on this. When we were children, Angeal, being older, felt it was his responsibility to take care of me from time to time. I wasn't, mind you, always happy with his interference, but you don't tell that to your best friend too often. Once," fingers resume their playful pastime twiddling the laces of my shirt, "I had a girl in Banora – or I should say I wanted to have a girl. Remember Hikari?" I strain my memory, but it takes time to recall the black-haired girl I met during my first visit to my friend's hometown. "She still hopes I will ask her out. Now, then, Angeal thought we were not suitable for each other for… let's just say, various reasons. Of course," he hastily adds, seeing a dangerous glint in my eyes, "if he so decides about you, I will not give up on us. I don't need his overprotective shadow any more, but… "

He lets the sentence ring unfinished, yet I understand what he alludes to. He probably knows Angeal better than I do, and if he says we should wait a little with revelations, I have no objections.

Obviously, Genesis is satisfied things went his way and doesn't fail to express his gratitude in a deep, slow kiss. Having settled between my knees, the redhead gently covers my lips with his; I draw forward, not surprised any more, eager even, responding to his tender caress by probing those lush lips with my tongue and sliding it in between to meet Genesis'.

Unlike that one time we had in the kitchen, the redhead moves away after a first couple of gentle kisses. His gaze travels over my shoulders with unconcealed regret, fingers tenderly gathering scattered silver tresses; I watch them with amusement until my lover confesses to his worries.

"I should be going. Tomorrow my unit departs at six in the morning, and I don't want to struggle to keep myself awake the very first time I am in command of a large detachment. Can you imagine what they'll think of me?"

"Mine leaves early as well. I believe we are scheduled to depart together."

"We'd better."

I let him go with slight reluctance as well, watching the slender frame gracefully rise and head for the door, the strange melody even in the way he walks. Yet, at the last minute he halts and without looking at me quietly inquires.

"Can I stay with you?"

Why not? He stayed in my apartment on occasions before this one, however, we were fiends then, and now things changed. Yet, he waits until I am done with my evening shower and simply falls asleep by my side, having only wished me a good night.

Awake, I continue lying in darkness, eyes opened and thinking of nothing, Genesis' breath the only sound heard in utter silence, Genesis' shoulders rising and falling the only movement I feel.

No, it is a lie that I am thinking of nothing; I am thinking about tomorrow…

* * *

Hundreds of chests heave and fall in perfect cadence. Spattering myriads of rain droplets, hundreds of right feet strike against the paved helipad. Hundreds of left follow.

Hundreds of eyeless helmets blindly stare into hazy distance; hundreds of weary breaths mingle in a steady rhythm. Hundreds of right hands rise to salute.

Hundreds of left fall.

Steps sharp, measured, I am walking along the long lines of my soldiers through the pouring rain and seeping through the veil, separate, quivering sun rays. The helicopter pad is above the plate, now abandoned to the whims of late spring weather, and I can almost feel what it takes for the men to stand quiescent, fighting anxiety and a share of fear.

As soldiers, we are trained to withstand against harsh weather, and I – more than others, but these conditions may be felt as onerous. I was told that the climate in Wutai is even worse.

Rain droplets are falling around me, trickling along shorter locks of silver and onto my face, dripping underneath the collar of my new leather coat. Thwart streams patter against identical helmets, steel of helicopters, against the circles painted on the pavement, and turbid currents swirl on the rain waters. For an instant I watch them run somewhere into the greenish darkness of Midgar sprawled at my feet down below, then, having reached the end of the rows, order my units to start boarding the helicopters.

Dismissed, soldiers swiftly run towards the steel hulks, whereupon – when the throng thins – I notice Genesis standing on the roof by the edge. Auburn hair is plastered to the porcelain forehead, a crease marring its usual immaculate smoothness, expressing his slight annoyance with the weather and who knows with what aside from rain. A trenchant outline of houses shows dark below, partially concealed by unfinished plates.

"Let's board our helicopter," he raises his voice to drown the swishing of rain streams and adroitly - if not playfully - throws back the damp bang of hair that usually hangs over his left eye. "There is not a moment I am willing to spend in this downpour."

For an instant his fingers linger on the damp leather of my coat, ever so unnoticeably trace a line on the forearm and impetuously let go when azure eyes meet mine.

"Not now," I whisper with warning notes in my voice.

Genesis ignores them with a defiant smile, drawing even nearer and letting playful words slip into my ear from lips I vividly remember kissing.

"Even something so innocuous?"

I frown and move away, riveting my eyes on something in the distance. "Do you want the whole army gossiping about us having a relationship? To be on everyone's lips when we already would not be able to avoid attention with the upcoming military operations?"

"Humph, I didn't know you were that shy."

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Do you honestly believe I am going to war to appear on the television screen?"

"Well, that is a certain reward for your efforts, don't you think so?"

I know it is rather pointless to argue with the redhead when it comes to the question of titles and fame therefore I head for the helicopter without giving him any answer.

"By the way," his voice, coming from behind, is now taunting, and it nearly drowns in the sound of huge airscrews cleaving the rain veil. "I love your new uniform."

I gather heavy from moisture hair and fling it over my left shoulder to climb into the transportation compartment, oblivious of the redhead following me until we settle down among other commanding staff. There is an enigmatic smile on my lover's lips, almost all the time from the moment we take off to the moment we finally land, as if challenging me with the question unspoken, yet well known to us both.

The dark veil of rain closes down upon the string of helicopters, they disappear from my view, and – despite being surrounded by Lieutenant Clark mumbling something about bad weather and others I don't know, silent – I feel I am left alone with the redhead.

And not for once during the whole flight do Genesis' eyes leave mine.

…We arrive at the island of Wutai a couple of hours later when the rain subsides to dull sprinkle, yet clouds are still hanging over us threateningly low. The weather doesn't seem quite suitable for advance, so I believe we will have to wait for it to change. The roads through the forests are, likely, impassable, and bypassing them is hardly an option, as I fear giving the enemy a huge advantage of knowing the terrain.

Turks assert that we are not to expect an ambush at the landing, and I can hope this time Veld is right, for the President will not be as tolerant to more failures as he was before. The helicopters brought us as close to Fort Tamblin as it was possible, but the rest of the way up the mountain we will have to finish on foot. Also, I was told there would be members of the infamous Engetsu circle at the Fort, more reason not to act rashly and unprepared.

Holding still damp hair with my right hand, I watch my unit slowly disappear under the branches of deciduous trees that show green at some distance from the pad. The air is fresh with teasing smells of succulent grass and blooming cherry trees, obscured from even my keen eyes by seemingly limitless expanse of the forest.

Somehow I can still feel their faint scent.

Lieutenant Clark approaches me in a rudely familiar way - now that there is no Masumi with us he doesn't even try to pretend he respects me. His is in his late twenties and doesn't fail to show I am nothing but an inexperienced child to him, an error I believe will be rectified soon and by means better than words.

"The weather is awful, _Sir_. What are we going to do about it?"

I look down to watch the flaps of my leather coat flutter above the toe of my boot, a smirk together with a question safely hidden behind the shorter silver tresses. I wonder whether he expects me to start lengthy explanations in order to earn his respect with hollow words and thus make a fool out of myself. I might not be a good person to turn to if there is a relationship problem – I admit that with Genesis I act solely on intuition – but here I know exactly what has to be said and how.

"Nothing. There is nothing we can do about the weather, Lieutenant." I was right he does look offended, as if he was expecting a friendly talk instead of my terse answer. "I suggest we camp two miles upstream."

I gesture towards the small rivulet that struck my eye the moment we landed; it runs through the stripe of red clay and into the thicket, disappearing underneath the dark from moisture branches.

"I hope you know what you are doing, Sir," it rings a mockery, subtle, and yet without much attempt to be concealed. For a moment I feel an almost desperate prick of uncertainty, but I don't let it show; I cannot allow them to see any signs of weakness, inasmuch as only strength earns respect.

My and Genesis' units set out at once, leaving a small peaceful glade behind with almost no regret. The reconnaissance party returns without delay and, having engaged in no skirmishes and encountered no ambush, reports that the Wutai haven't yet noticed our presence. It is hard to believe, so when we arrive at the marked place of the rest, I post additional sentries.

Tents begin to grow on the small glade as mushrooms after the rain, all of one dark-green color that blends with the surroundings so that in approaching evening it will be hard to spot our camp from helicopters. I observe the preparations from the distance, from time to time giving out remarks to those I deem to be not assiduous enough. A small earthwork I ordered to pile up in case the Wutai spot us rises by the entrance to the glade, and thereupon soldiers quickly scatter around the camp, cooking, cleaning their weapons, and idly chattering to sooth fears of what tomorrow might bring.

Having supervised the precaution measures, I suddenly feel tired and, seeking some rest and solitude after this rather unwonted ebullience, withdraw into my tent. Or, should I say, our tent, for Genesis will definitely be sharing it with me.

With a faint smirk I find the redhead sprawled on the field cot, heeled boots and SOLDIER's black uniform still on, auburn head buried between two khaki pillows he is clenching in his hands. Having flipped aside the cloth shielding the inlet, I linger a few moments contemplating the sight before me with a share of amusement before I slip out of the outerwear and lean Masamune against the tent wall. I haven't tried using it yet, however, I am more than eager to.

The cot is uncomfortable, caves in too deeply, yet I am not picky as to whereat to fall asleep which - if I am tired - rarely takes too long.

…After a short rest, I leave my tent, still feeling a bit weary, but refreshed enough to concentrate on tomorrow. Genesis is still sleeping, and I decide not to wake him up lighting the small kerosene lapm; having picked up Masamune and thrown the black leather coat over my shoulders, I slip out of the small room and into the chill of approaching evening.

Shadows have fallen over the camp, having accentuated small flickering lights of lamps under the canvas tents, and following them I easily find my way through the maze of dark humps. I am about to leave the camp and find a place to think at, when notice three shadows standing by the earthworks, one – with a shovel, two others empty-handed. I halt for a moment, and faces turn my way, eyes sparkling with enmity; then one voice, loud and clear, drawls with an unhidden fastidious note.

"Did you see? Someone _up there _sent a little pretty white-haired bitch to command our unit." Hushed warnings follow, but the soldier, whose face I don't see, boldly continues, likely, drunk. "I think_s he_ needs a good fuck."

It takes a long poignant moment for the words to register in my mind. Was he talking about me? A hot wave slowly surges inside, rushes to my cheeks, overwhelming my disbelief and soon overflowing in a short outburst of cold anger.

Having pivoted on my heels, I take a swift step and thrust my left hand forward until it finds that of the insolent soldier; I don't give him time to blink, never mind scream for help, as my fingers clench and move with ruthless precision. His wrist yields with a snap, and to the shrewd yell the nameless soldier kneels before me, cradling a broken hand. He didn't expect a sudden reaction, and now tears begin streaming down his cheeks from pain; having contrived to suppress sobs, he lets only muffled sounds pass his lips when I push him aside.

Did they truly think I would tolerate anyone's petty insults?

Lifeless body falls into the pool of mud that hasn't dried up after the rain, having splashed my coat with dirt, and doesn't move thereafter. During this almost silent scene two of his friends recoil from me, and for the first time in eyes riveted on me I see genuine fear.

Maybe, now they will understand why I am in command.

I glare at the ashen faces, at the cowardly hidden eyes, and my voice cuts the air, still vibrating with residue of ire, steel-like.

"From now on, I shall be addressed as 'Sir' and with behooved respect. Small talk, gossip, your _personal _impressions of those in command will _not_ be tolerated." Disdain in my voice makes even the boldest of them shrink and force a rather pitiable mumble, _"Yes, Sir." _I draw a deep breath, calming down; slower than usually the wave dissipates, abates to fatigue I feel more keenly than before I left the tent.

Having stirred on the ground, the injured soldier groans, riveting my attention back to his persona – not that this is the kind of attention he at this moment genuinely wishes for. I regard him for a split second – from the dirty clothes to the shattered hand he cradles close to his chest – and there is no pity in my heart, no regret for what I have done.

"Heal him or take to the field hospital," the small shining orb of the healing materia falls onto the ground still damp from the rain with a faint splash. I am already walking away, boots sinking in mud and flaps of my new coat flying in dank wind; Masamune is strapped to my back, and the knowledge my new blade is with me adds reassurance.

I am still not certain my measures were enough to impel everyone to realize I am not to be taken frivolously or with this fatuous sense of humor I don't really understand, yet this was a first necessary step.

Too much softness in a warrior is weakness.

Too much softness in a leader is incompetence.

… After the short incident with the smug soldier, I decide to find a desolated place by the stream to clear my mind and gather my thoughts. Tomorrow or the day thereafter I will be leading my first unit into first real battle, whereof I only know what I've read from books and have been taught by those more experienced. Tomorrow lives will be placed into my hands, and I will have to do my best not to let many of the soldiers die. I will be too arrogant to say the fact doesn't bother me, or that this responsibility doesn't frighten me. I don't know what will be worse – to fail to achieve my obligation or return victorious but with barely anyone alive.

I take a seat by the shore, peer into approaching darkness as if searching for an answer, however, nothing but an impetuous gust of wind comes, throwing a blend of scents and sounds into my face. I absent-mindedly hold my long hair back, feeling pleasant chill that cools my burning forehead. This dilemma even Genesis cannot help me with.

What if tomorrow I fail?

A leaf falls onto the refulgent surface of the rivulet, whirls, as the wind carries it away into darkness. I watch it slide as there is nothing else for me to watch; the second one follows, then the third one, when I finally swallow a lump in the throat and force the frightening images out of my head. Not that the redhead lets me dwell on them for a long time.

I look over my shoulder at the sound of snapping twigs and notice a familiar figure as it slips between dark pillars of tree trunks. I specifically asked him to leave me alone, but my minute disappointment vanishes when I realize he could be feeling the same way. After all, tomorrow is his début as a leading SOLDIER as well.

It appears I am wrong.

"Angeal called, asked me to tell you…" The redhead's voice is slightly trembling. "He received news from home… his father died… and he is not even with us. Damn this war!"

He angrily slams his palm against the bark of a crooked tree, whose branches bathe in the swollen with rain water streamlet.

_Angeal's father died…_

The thought is surprisingly calm, for it is hard for me to understand how one may feel losing a father; as opposed to them, I never had one. Rather, I understand rationally that it has to be painful for Angeal.

Genesis slumps by my side, searchingly peers into my face. "You know, he sounded as usually, as if nothing happened, but I know it is his pride that doesn't let him say everything he wants to. Why is he so proud?"

"What of you, Genesis? Would you say much?"

For a moment there is silence, then he laughs, quietly, without mirth, "You are an endless source of comfort, Sephiroth."

Auburn head slowly rests on my shoulder, and I feel warmth of my lover's skin even through leather. Gently passing fingers over silken tresses that the cold wind ruffles, I ruefully smirk into darkness. Ever since I was a child, I only had myself to rely on – I had no parents who would aid in rectifying my mistakes or offer comfort, no friends, and lab assistants did not express any care or interest in my fate. I've dealt with everything myself, and asking for help now is as alien thought for me as giving up to Wutai without a fight, a character trait intrinsic to someone like myself.

Maybe, Angeal is also reluctant to ask for help for his own reasons.

In silence that ensues I don't know what to add, aside from slightly reassuring, "Tomorrow we'll see him. Lazard said he'd be joining our units – you might even be the first one to greet him. I will be leading an assault at Fort Tamblin."

Genesis shivers by my side, and – as much as he wants to pretend he is fine – the next words betray his real feelings. "I am scared, Sephiroth. I was thinking… well, what if I fail… and, you know… what if everything goes awry?"

With a soft chuckle I let my hand twine around his slender waist. "Will you believe me if I say I fear the same?"

"You…"

The astonishment in the redhead's voice is amusing. "I."

"You know," he shifts closer, "you just made me feel better."

For a while we sit in silence, gazing into darkness of the night in its full reign. My eyes are so keen that I notice even the glitter of amber that the trees exude or the tiniest specks of moonlight on the surface of a streamlet. Even in the smallest and most insignificant things like these I saw more than most ever will.

Genesis changes the topic abruptly, unexpectedly – as does his mood change at times – and the words he utters catch me unawares.

"Angeal thinks I don't know it, but I am smarter than that. We grew up together, and who better than me understood that his family was poor. He didn't even have dumbapples in his garden, and we would often go and steal them from the neighbor's trees. He would say it was for fun – and it was fun for me until I realized why he did it." My lover rises, silent and warm as a gust of spring wind, and takes that warmth with him. "His pride, his honor… they would not let him ask for an apple, and I never offered, inasmuch as in his place I wouldn't want to be offered one as well." I meet his eyes shining with his own pride, realizing I would be the third one not to ask for a dumbapple; we are so similar in many ways, and although not all of them are clear even to me, I feel our friendship is much more than just a coincidence. "Why are you smirking, Sephiroth?"

"I thought about dumbapples." I easily admit, thoughtfully twiddling a silver lock between two fingers. "I would not ask for them either."

Speaking of dumbapples, I remind myself to call Angeal on my way back to the camp.

"I'll wait for you at the tent," with that promise Genesis disappears again, leaving me alone with desire to finish what I came here for. Since I received my blade yesterday late in the evening, I wanted to feel the might it emits, the might I see just by looking at its perfect arc. As I slowly unsheathe it, the handle slides into my left hand as if being created for it, the sword eagerly trembling to be used. I make a couple of practice moves before giving it a full swing.

Falling athwart, Masamune effortlessly swishes the darkness into shreds, and to my keen ears the air sings, whispers its beguiling but empty promises, and on the long thin blade sheens of colorless flames dance.

There is so much power in my new sword, a masterpiece I find fascinating and worthy of being wielded only by someone like myself; it will take time to master and uncover its full potential, but even now I feel it is deadly. With genuine fascination I pass my gloved fingers over its immaculate refulgence, and even through leather its coldness is perceptible as coldness of any perfection.

Light, long and swift, it meets all demands I had to a weapon befitting my abilities, its magnificence the last missing piece in the final realization, final and fatal.

Soon I am going to war.

* * *

END OF EPISODE I


	10. Chapter IX

**_A/N:_** SephyRocks, thank you; I love writing about wars and brilliant generals. My weakness, really. XD

But this battle scene took me forever! *glares at Seph for not being cooperative this time* ... *Seph calmly shrugs and calls me lazy* :D

* * *

EPISODE II

GREATNESS OF THY ENEMY

_Chapter IX._

"Sir, the gates have been breached."

I tear my gaze from the unremarkable spot on the cloudy sky and nod in acknowledgement of my subordinate's words. I ordered the operation to begin an hour ago, but Lieutenant Clark soon reported a complication at the initial stage – the gates were exceptionally well protected. I decided not to act and let his unit deal with the minor hindrance first; after all, my strength is not infinite, and I know that the day of the siege is far from over.

Watching flaps of my coat flutter above the toes of my boots, I slip by the soldier, who delivered the report, and onto the narrow path that winds through the coppice towards the Fort itself. The thick carpet of grass and dark shadows of trees slide by with barely any detail registered in my mind as my concentration slowly nears its peak; in such state I ignore minuscule, unnecessary elements of the ambience.

The battlefield appears abruptly, a black scorched mark on the succulent grass already dotted with numerous corpses, those in Shin-Ra uniform alternating with Wutai infantry. The gates indeed have been breached; one leaf stands, leaning against the wall as a weary wayfarer, the other lies in a charred heap underneath my feet. A group of soldiers stands thereby, awaiting my instructions, and among them I notice Clark at once.

"I suggest we split up, lieutenant."

"I agree, Sir. " He salutes. "My unit will take the right part of the Fort, and we'll meet up at the main square."

I wonder whether the news about yesterday's incident with a soldier, whose wrist I broke for insulting me, reached him and whether he will ever bring this matter to my attention. Apparently, he is wise not to do it on the battlefield.

This I think, swiftly striding towards the gates and the dark spot of an empty street looming behind; by the broken leaf I halt, slowly unsheathe Masamune, watching rare sunrays flicker across the skies and light up along the whole length of its blade. It is a source of concern to me, the emptiness in the street ahead, for it is hard to believe the enemy abandoned the gates so soon. My sword freezes pointing to the heart of the Fort, and I finally take a couple of steps forward, disappearing underneath the stone arch.

The narrow streets are winding, as though created in an attempt to lead me into a trap. Surrounded by tall walls with towers on the corners, they overshadow any building I could have chosen as a reference point. The stone pavement meanders underneath my feet in a dark pattern, unchanged with each step, and not even the details my extraordinary abilities let me discern sink into my memory. Silence reins above all, as if I am but a chance visitor to the ancient, abandoned city.

My initial guess about a trap turns out to be correct when I reach a first dead end and the street returns to life. Wutai spring out of nowhere or, rather, from everywhere. Two walls turn, and a whole unit pours out into the street led by a squat warrior with a halberd-looking weapon, the rest – armed with gun-spears. Somewhere in the distance the staccato sounds of gun fire tear the quiescence, and I understand that the battle began for Lieutenant Clark as well.

The leader points a halberd at me, screaming, "The Wutai will not fall, invader!" and his comrades zealously fall upon me from different sides, discarding honor of a single combat.

Having gotten a better grip on Masamune, I unleash it in a sharp twirl of my body, amazed at the easiness, with which it obeys every command of my wrist. Cutting through the steel spears, the thin blade finds flesh, bites, pierces. Bodies fall faster than silver tresses across my face, and I don't wait, push off the ground and, having cleaved the squad leader in flight, land behind the dark circle.

Eyes sparkling with rancor behind helmets, the last two Wutai attack me with temerity, hoping to die and take me with them, not sparing their own lives just to land a single blow, to wound and enfeeble me. Why? They should have run; I wouldn't have pursued, for all I came here for lies at the heart of the Fort.

Masamune flits crisscross, both spears pierce the flying flaps of leather coat, and quiescence returns as abruptly as it was broken, both warriors joining those already dead on the stone pavement. The range of my blade is not simply deadly – it is devastating.

I shake blood off Masamune in one swift movement and continue my journey into the labyrinth of streets. The cloudy skies hang over me silently, as though watching me with intense interest. Gusts of warm wind waft inimical sounds of battle through the maze to my keen ears.

…After half an hour of wandering and five similar encounters that left over a hundred of the Wutai dismembered and decapitated, I finally reach the heart of the Fort. The battle is fierce, and this is but a beginning of what is already named the Wutai war. The defenders tried to stop me with whatever means they could, using traps, trickery, ambush, yet all they succeeded in was marring my long blade with scarlet blood. I haven't been trained for naught, and what I've learned proved itself useful. For a split second Hojo's words resurface in my mind, then sink in the nearing shrieks and clangs of metal.

_You are born for this glorious moment…._

I turn the corner abruptly, and, having bent down, pass the half-destroyed arch of gates that open on the square crowned with the tall edifice I recognize as the main premises. Lieutenant Clark and his depleted detachment are waiting for me, hiding everywhere they can – behind protuberances on the walls, behind statues and a huge altar to the Leviathan. Five bodies lie awkwardly sprawled on the ground by the long staircase, and more wounded are hastily being treated behind makeshift barricades.

I approach, cautiously keeping to shelter between walls, rocks, and debris.

"Lieutenant Clark, what is going on?"

The older commander presses a healing materia to the blood-soaked uniform on his shoulder with a hiss he is unable to restrain. "Damn snipers… Sir… When we got to the square, they shot us right on spot. Three of them are up on the roof of the main building," he tries to raise his hand, but drops it with another painful exclamation. "Shit! Hurts… Damn snipers… we didn't expect snipers…"

I shift my gaze to the heart of the Wutai fortress, a solid stone building with a curved up red roof, walls decorated with ancient ornaments of Leviathan and an entrance door hiding behind the long staircase. The windows are lifeless, and nowhere behind the glass can I discern the enemy's movement, my extraordinary abilities notwithstanding. Rays of sun that penetrate the steel-gray clouds above us helplessly slide along the matt windows, vanishing. I frown, however, the crease on my forehead smoothes out in instants as I reach a decision.

"I am going alone. Tell the rest of the unit to stand by."

"But… my men are not a burden… we can…"

"This is an order."

"Sir… may I…"

What was it that Clark didn't understand? My eyes narrow to slits under the knitted eyebrows. He will be putting our men in the line of fire just because he doesn't trust me, and, swayed by an emotion, he is being more than unreasonable.

"I don't appreciate questioning, lieutenant. I hope this is understood."

Lieutenant Clark flinches and lowers his gaze, knowing that – should he disobey – the consequences won't be confined to a broken wrist, as he wouldn't be dealing with just me, but with the whole power of Shin-Ra.

I unsheathe my sword and intrepidly take a step forward.

Once I leave the shelter, snipers open fire immediately, but bullets harmlessly hit the long brand of Masamune I bring to my forehead; bluish sparks fly asunder with strident staccato sounds, fading in the corner of my eyes. I mend my pace, swiftly cross the opening – a square with a fountain I have no time to scrutinize in detail, concentrated as I am; snipers fire again, only this time I am already in the air, and the stones underneath flare up with the same bluish flames. Having pushed off the Leviathan's head on the wall, I effortlessly rise above the roof through the air thick with smoke – somewhere underneath me fires blaze up, and flaps of my coat whiffle in warm wind. Bullets whiz through the air, yet again rebound from the impenetrable barrier of Masamune I twirl effortlessly, as if I was born with it in my hand. My feet slowly touch the roof, move in a honed rhythm; the blade flies up askance with a triumphant flare, and down fall three beheaded bodies, rifles still clutched in their hands. With its enormous magnificent length, I only needed one swing.

I barely look at them, my right hand already rising to readjust a shoulder strap that shifted during the short encounter with the enemy. Then my eyes notice a glass shielded dome; steps rustling on the roof, I approach it with a sharp smirk flickering in the corner of my lips – it was a weakness, an oversight on the enemy's part. Masamune describes an arc, the glass shatters, in a ringing waterfall cascades downwards. I follow, landing with the first shard, Masamune clenched in my left, my right touching the marble floor; however, I straighten brusquely, as a strained string, when a there is a movement to my left followed by someone's startled cry. They clearly expected us to attempt and break through the main barricaded doors. More bodies fall, this time Masamune crushes even the spears awkwardly brought forward for defense, and steel tips join blood drops in a fantail my blade leaves behind.

Someone's steps echo through the adjacent corridor, burst into the room from the door behind me, fading as the warrior halts, stunned with fright, and this is when I strike. Having turned round, giving Masamune a full swing, full freedom, I direct it from my feet aloft; it flies through the air almost effortlessly, its tip cutting through the thick leather uniform, stifling a scream in the soldier's throat, and leaving a fountain of blood gushing from the thin long wound.

I freeze, panting ever so slightly, flick a warm salty drop away from my face, while around me with doleful dings the last motley shards are falling.

The door to the main premises is heavy, but yields to my onrush, revealing a large arena with a dome-like ceiling. I am awaited this time, for in the middle there are two huge monsters, like I've never seen heretofore, and behind them, safely hidden, amass the warriors of the infamous Crescent Unit I recognize by the shining steel armor.

The confusion lasts but an instant and with a deafening bellow a clumsy hulk of a monster wielding an enormous hammer rushes towards me. I dodge, and the weapon lands where I stood instants ago, leaving a shallow deepening on the floor. Before the monster lifts his hammer again, I push off the handle to jump on the armored shoulder and thrust the creature in the base of the spine. Masamune penetrates the hard skin no other sword would easily have, the monster bellows from pain, crushing walls and columns in blind rage, whereupon I leap off the crumbling hulk with intention to deal with the other creature.

A hammer meets me in the air, hits against Masamune, strewing sparks and stealing my breath away. The monster's strength is not to be taken lightly; perhaps, they were specifically bred to match my kind, but Veld or other Turks never reported of the possible threat. Backflipping, I contrive to stop my chaotic fall, landing slowly and confidently despite the iron taste of blood in my mouth; a steel fragment of the hammer – the blade of Masamune is as smooth as at the beginning of battle – has cut my lip. I wipe a scarlet drop with my gloved finger in one ostentatiously slow, perfected movement.

The Wutai open fire, I respond, tearing a master lightning materia out of the slot on my shoulder and, ducking my head to avoid another swing of a hammer that sprays me with stone fragments, throw a bolt into the rows of Wutai warriors.

Cries ring in the arena premises, however, I cannot allow myself to watch their demise, as the monster lifts its hammer anew, threatening to turn me into a bloody spot on the wall, my enhanced anatomy notwithstanding, if my reaction fails.

I don't move, ordering myself to dismiss fear. Exhale, inhale. Calmer…

My eyes close, and in inner darkness there is a tingling sensation, like melting ice on my gloved hand, of Masamune's power I yearn to unleash. I hear the hammer swishing through the air and towards it release what appears to be a bluish energy wave, cold, sharp, lightning-like; it shatters against the monster's weapon, yet the second ray cuts through steel and armor as if they were butter, and the creature utters a roar, clasping its bloodied hands to the face. Before it does so, I notice the ghostly blades burnt out both of its eyes.

I finish it off with a powerful blow, cleaving it from head to toes, and leap over the agonizing hulk to avoid being stained with its putrid blood that sprays every which way.

Seeing how I took down both of their strongest monsters, the Wutai remain calm and act jointly, as if I haven's just shown them uncanny power. Their commander orders them to surround me, and I follow a thin chain of warriors with my eyes, tip of Masamune flickering inches above the floor.

Fatigue takes its toll, and rather unexpectedly a wave of weakness rolls in; my vision blurs, and I have to blink to clear it, yet outwardly my restraint doesn't crack. Showing a weakness gives the enemy reassurance, and my best hope is to use their confusion and bewilderment to my advantage before I am too enervated to perform at the peak of my abilities.

Only now, once the crowd thinned, I notice that the leader wears the uniform of the Engetsu Circle, but behind the mask it is impossible to discern, who of the four – or, likely, five anew – lances he is.

Swords fly up and asunder, a bluish streak of flame meanders along Masamune as it pushes the crude weapons aside with nearly perfected elegance, bursts white as it falls faster than anything a human eye can follow. I advance, sharply swinging my sword from left to right, cutting through everything that meets my way –flesh, weapons, walls. I am unleashed in the waterfall of sparks, silver and cacophony of screams, crushing defenses, outstripping movements, and bodies are falling, falling, falling… The last one dashes under my feet with a yell, I jump over him, blindly strike backwards, by a moan reassured I hit, whereupon I am left with the leader of the Fort's defenses one on one.

"Very impressive," he takes several steps towards me, "the reports did not lie. You are one of the best Shin-Ra has, or… simply the best? But don't think that if you were bestowed with some titles, Wutai will bow to you." Gratings on both sides of the arena open with a gritting sound, and cat-like monsters leap out of the gaping holes in the walls. "Earn it… if you can."

Precious moments it takes for me to kill both beasts he uses to flee the way I came, only Lieutenant Clark will later report he never saw anyone escaping. Likely, he used a hidden underground tunnel.

I look round, feeling my head beginning to reel both from the strain of the battle, bloodshed, and excessive use of my own energy reserves; bodies lie around me in a semicircle, almost too perfect to be true. Staggering, I approach the column and slump by it, facing the exit door and relieved to feel coolness of stone underneath my cheek, lightness in my legs as I spread them. Masamune is still clenched in my left hand, and I place it across my lap, through the drum of my heartbeat, through the voices and noises that suddenly fill the arena clearly hearing blood dripping from its long, thin blade.

* * *

"Director Lazard, the mission is successfully accomplished." I press the portable phone to my ear to drown all the vociferous sounds heard from the encampment and flip the cloth shielding the entrance to my tent aside. Eyes closed, I halt for a moment, right hand searching for support, then slip inside, into welcoming darkness and solitude. "The casualties are minimal, insignificant to the overall amount of troops, the Fort is captured, and we are ready to proceed into the enemy's terrain upon your new orders. However, I encountered two unfamiliar creatures dangerous enough to attract my attention."

"You have performed well, Sephiroth," Director's voice rings with content, "and I am expecting full reports before we receive news from all battlefield. Include the creatures there and inform me directly via portable terminal if the situation changes."

"Understood. Anything else?"

"Nothing urgent." He pauses, and I am about to hang up when he adds. "Ah, I forgot to mention. The President requested you give the media a detailed account of your first victory – and _it is_ your first victory. The reporters should be on their way."

Brusquely lifting my head, I draw a sharp breath, feeling gloved fingers clench around the phone, yet manage to restrain any words, aside from a terse, "I will comply."

My first victory… Fingers unclench; the phone lands on the table with a thud, and I push it under the papers scattered on the top. Then I slowly unbuckle my leather coat, repose myself on the cot, arms folded behind my head, and let my eyelids drop, shielding eyes from even a scintilla of faint light.

Such was my first victory, almost effortless, and yet there is something heavy on my chest I cannot dismiss and whisk away as a bead of sweat or a drop of blood.

_So many dead…_

I wonder if I have at least an hour of rest…

… I awake when Lieutenant Clark enters my tent; it is dusk, and through the chink cold wind blows into my face, scatters my already disheveled silver hair.

"The reporters are here, Sir, they asked for you." I am reluctant to sit up, stealing last transient moments of peace before they are broken anew. A gray spot in pre-dusk semi-darkness, my subordinate's face flickers between half-closed eyelids as my eyes aimlessly rove around the tent's ceiling. "Should I ask them to…"

I shake my head, "I will be there, give me a moment."

"I… I hope you won't forget my unit… Sir… they did…"

"Of course, lieutenant, I won't." I, however, know that the reporters are here for me. This is my first victory won for Shin-Ra, not lieutenant Clark's. I look at the electronic watch. "Where are Genesis and Angeal?"

"Their units haven't arrived yet."

"Inform me once they do."

"I will, Sir."

I sit up, watching the cloth flutter in the soft glow of the lamp I light, while my fingers mechanically lace soldier's boots, one knot after another. I gave up on wearing a black turtleneck underneath my coat, so leather clings to bare skin as I buckle up one clasp and attach Masamune to my back. After it served me so well during the first battle, I decide to take my new sword with me.

Long grass is buckling in the wind, green crones of trees overshadow the skies, and last sun rays are falling across the valley, scattering images of rich nature before my eyes, and my fingers unnoticeably clench, so rich they are, impossible to block now, when my inhuman concentration finally cracked. I take a familiar pathway; pebbles crunch underneath my boots as I go, thoughtfully watching the coppice around me.

Nature's design has many miracles, and life is among them, life and death…

The destroyed gates at Fort Tamblin have become a sight different from the one only a couple of hours ago; crews of reporters, both from television and newspapers, are bustling around, interviewing soldiers, organizing the scene, or just chattering. I linger on the brink between the coppice in the glade, still hidden in shadows, to make sure that my emotions and thoughts are concealed beyond an indifferent professional mask, and only then approach the largest crew.

This is the part of my duties I am unable to understand or like; why Shin-Ra needed heroes, I can guess, but why people needed them first, is another of those recondite matters. Why would someone take interest in my life, gossip about my relationships, and waste time watching stories about me on television? Didn't they have anything else to do?

The reporters notice me, shower with smiles, and inside I cringe. Is this why I killed?

"Sephiroth, Sir, I am Tony Ergatz, I will be working with you today, and, maybe, who knows, in the future. Here's my crew," he gestures behind with unchanging smile, and my personality has little to do with it, I suspect, "we've heard about your extraordinary abilities before. In short, we were dying to meet you in person, and make a story for the fifth channel, but until now our boss wouldn't let us. Now… now's a different matter. People are gonna love you."

I fold my arms and steal a tired glance at the darkening skies. "Just tell me what needs to be done."

"Your role is simple, Sir. We're going to be live on the news, the captured Fort on the background, here," he makes another impetuous gesture, outlining a circle five or six steps across wherefrom there is a good view of the pillars of smoke rising above the walls, "cameras are already set, and I will be asking you questions, nothing serious of course. Y'know, just to give the public enough thought for the evening."

I avert my face, watching silver tresses fall across my chest. "Do you know how many died here today?"

Either my voice is quiet and the reporter cannot hear me, or he prefers to show he cannot, but there is a bewildered pause in his usually monotonous patter. "Sir… I didn't catch what you said. Can you repeat it? I wasn't…."

I already regret that momentary display of weakness and inquire with usual indifference, "I was wondering where I should stand."

… After the interview on the television whereat I was introduced as a SOLDIER, who almost single-handedly captured the fortified outpost on the Wutai border, it is the turn for the newspaper reporters to take my pictures and ask me the same questions. What are my expectations of this war? When is it going to end with a victory? Other focus on the advantages Shin-Ra army has over the enemy's. I cannot offer any valuable insight yet, since this is my first battle and it is hard to say anything about the future, and thus end up reciting my encounter with Wutai monsters and the representative of the Engetsu Circle. One of the reporters even asked how old I was, and I said the truth – that I was seventeen, but it was half true at best. Even before my first kill, scientists started injecting me with growth acceleration substances, so that I would be able to begin my duties sooner than my human age would allow me to. I don't look, I don't act, I don't think as if I am a normal seventeen year old child I see every day among new recruits or Third Class SOLDIERs. I could have said I was twenty-five, or thirty, and it wouldn't make much difference.

My last picture is for the infamous _Midgar Times_, only today there is no sign of Isa; a short lively man, whose name I cannot recall, spends more than ten minutes explaining me how I should stand and where, and by the time he is done I can barely control my slipping attention. It is now dark, but the large projectors provide enough background light; moths are drawn to the bright illuminations, their wings fluttering against the glass as they want to get closer to the desired glow, and above me a thin crescent is climbing the dark-blue welkin.

I am told to stand by the breached gates, unsheathe Masamune and hold it in a relaxed pose of a victor, and I obediently do so as the camera snaps once, twice, capturing me from different angles. I feel awkward in this abundance of unwanted attention, my expression nonetheless blank, posture perfected to a stiff façade with no more life than in the grandiose edifice of a Wutai fortress. At least I don't have to smile, for I am certain it is beyond my lacking abilities to pretend.

"Excellent, Sir!" The reporter finally exclaims, satisfied, and his assistance with a camera vanishes from my sight at once. "You and your victory will be on the first pages tomorrow morning. What is your name again? I want to tell my wife I met a rising star today…"

"Sephiroth," my voice is level, expressing no eagerness matching that of the man in front of me.

"Sephiroth, then, thank you for your time. And good luck, Sir."

I slowly hide my sword, watching the crew gathering their belongings, extinguishing the projectors, and dawdling with equipment, suddenly indifferent to my existence, which even a moment ago was on everyone's mind. The feeling I am fighting is akin to an old one, when in the labs I thought I was a useless experiment, an inferior of sorts.

With an inaudible sigh I let go of the handle, smooth out the creased leather on my left glove. It was a long time ago.

Words reach my ears, and before I move away, I find myself involuntarily listening to them.

"… and the article will be called… called," the familiar reporter for _Midgar Times_ snaps his fingers with impatience. "C'mon, Max, give me a title… quick… something catchy and pompous to get everyone's attention…"

"Erm, sir… how about '_Requiem for the ancient glory_'?"

"Requiem for the ancient glory… you know, I like it, Max. Put it on top, and then his picture underneath together with…"

I am no longer listening; wending my way back to the encampment, I hope to find solitude in my tent, however, even such simple wish proves to be unattainable today.

"Sephiroth." My tent greets me with Genesis' voice, vexed Genesis' voice, and arguing with the redhead is last on my list of all possible pastimes this evening. I pretend I didn't notice him, place Masamune on the wooden stand and slip out of the leather attire, as though I am alone. "Angeal and I returned an hour ago, and where were you? Why didn't you wait until we came…"

"I had to finish my duties with the reporters." Then I notice Angeal sitting on my cot with his usual stoic and calm expression, and I am grateful he is here, for I might not have to talk anymore. Having settled on the chair, I spread my legs onto the second one, and finally let my eyes close, eyes already tired from refulgent camera flashes and cutting light. My hair cascades freely around me, and I do not even bother to gather it – few things could crack my profound indifference now. Genesis' kiss could, but he is not about to kiss me with Angeal in the tent, and even if we were alone, he would be in his insufferable acerbic mood; or so it seems. I am still watching my irascible lover, and now that we are in proximity, memories return together with undeniable desire to run my fingers through rich auburn tresses, trace the lines on bare skin hidden underneath the black turtleneck, see the depths of his eyes light up with unfamiliar ecstasy… I have to blink to dismiss the tempting entirety of the mental image; suddenly I wish Angeal left and let me talk to the redhead alone, the latter's mood notwithstanding.

"Genesis," in the meantime my older friend tries, and it helps more than if I had said those words, "Sephiroth was busy, he couldn't have disobeyed Lazard's orders…"

"… and I forgot my phone," I add, noticing the black matt device on the table whereat I left it, under the papers; I usually have it with me all the time. What happened today? My first victory…

"Is it true?" Azure eyes are narrow from anger. "Lazard called you?"

"He did." Genesis shakes his auburn head and with a deep sigh relaxes on the cot, a good sign he is not angry any more; his gaze is meant for me to understand and me only, but I am not certain I did. Having propped my head up on my hand, fingers plunging into silver hair, I drop my eyes, following those of my lover. "How did your mission go?"

"As planned," replies my older friend, "the villagers, however, were so frightened, I couldn't even expect to have resistance. I left representatives if there is turmoil in the future, but otherwise it hardly seems an adventure your mission was. Or Genesis'."

"Adventure?" My lover snorts, and the smirk on his lips is lazy anew; the earring tinkles when he abruptly tosses his head as if to marvel at something on the dark ceiling. "Angeal has an odd understanding of adventures. I was ambushed by two dozens of second-rate tyros, and then in the village itself the inhabitants tried to put up _some_ resistance. Compared to what Sephiroth did, it was worthless."

I don't wish to talk about that battle and slowly choose to change the topic.

"I've encountered monsters at Fort Tamblin, creatures I have never seen before. They are specifically bred to become stronger than most of SOLDIER."

"But you killed them both…"

"I did, Angeal, as I am certain you or Genesis would, but that is not my point. Ask yourself how many of _us_ does Shin-Ra army have; and, besides, what if Wutai is able to breed them in hundreds?"

Silence ensues, and both of my friends are not looking at me. Genesis studies his heeled boots although they are immaculately clean and my older friend sets about wiping his Buster Sword with a rag.

"It will be in your reports. Let Lazard worry about some monsters," the redhead finally proclaims with carelessness of his. "I think we earned some rest before another _raiding_ party tomorrow. And, Angeal, I'll need a person, who knows the landscape… what do you think about the locals?"

"They won't help you."

"Unfortunately, Sephiroth is right. The villagers weren't exactly happy to see me…"

A wry grimace distorts Genesis' face. "Without a guide I'll waste time in these forests… and, who knows, maybe there are even swamps here."

"I'll rely on my intuition…"

"My intuition, Angeal," he pulls out a book I've seen in his library in Banora, flips through the pages, "is of little use for anything but literature and books."

I cannot restrain myself from smirking, eyes traveling along the curves of my lover's body and resting upon the unobtrusive tent wall before our fleeting glances meet. It feels as though Genesis asks for me to say, "Then the elite SOLDIER is not for you; I think you should start thinking about acting."

Azure eyes flare up at once; the redhead leaps up, indignation evident on his face, so genuine it almost fools me. Almost. "Angeal, give me a moment with Sephiroth!"

My older friend chuckles, conciliatory puts out his hand as if to shield me with it. "Genesis, Sephiroth didn't want to…"

"Angeal," there is a warning in his melodic voice, and our mutual clueless friend finally gives in, to both mine and redhead's relief.

"All right, just don't burn anything…"

When my older friend's back disappears behind the cloth fluttering across the entrance chink and his steps are no longer heard on the grass carpet, I rise to join my lover in the hasty embrace we both needed the moment I stepped into the tent; embrace we awaited so long.

"Gaia, Angeal can be so stubborn…" Genesis breathes into my lips, smothering them with quick hungry kisses, each one a short passionate expression of what he feels, and it is similar to my desires.

"He doesn't know," I attempt to defend him, but my fingers are already twining around my lover's slender hips, push them into mine, feeling their graceful shape even though layers of rough cloth and leather.

"Later," the word is breathless, and Genesis captures my lower lip in a teasing caress; soon, however, the playful part is forgotten, as his hands loosen two leather straps I wear across my chest to hold my new sword, slide them along my shoulders, wandering across my chest.

The kiss is deep and hungry, a tongue between a tongue, a mouth on mouth, as if I want to taste every inch of lush lips the redhead generously offers. The redhead's hips buckle towards mine, the table behind me slightly wobbles from the weight of two bodies leaning against its edge; I find pleasure in the movement, when our loins touch and slide against each other, and repeat it, causing my lover to moan into the kiss.

Suddenly he draws away, soft lips traveling along my arching neck; exhaling sharply into my ear, the redhead bites at my earlobe and relaxes in my arms, his head finding rest on my shoulder. "Angeal will be back soon to see if we are still _alive_."

I know Genesis is right and even though I prefer he wouldn't be, I am glad we were able to share at least as much as a kiss…

When Angeal enters anew, we look slightly disheveled, but – aside from that – as if nothing had happened, and while his eyes shift from my face to Genesis' and then back to mine, the redhead innocently smiles.

"I didn't burn anything."


	11. Chapter X

_**A/N:**_ SephyRocks… well, Sephiroth is a fascinating character. To me, at least. :)

_Sidenote:_ In the first section Sephiroth uses military time, calling noon twelve hundred.

* * *

_Chapter X._

I am sitting at the movable table, a black pen clutched between my fingers, and in front of me a chart of a report I have to send daily is a white spot on the black top. Darkness gathers behind a single light of a kerosene lamp and flickers between wan tongues of flames; from outside the irksome sound of buzzing mosquitoes reaches my ears anew, threatening to tear my concentration into shreds. I cannot forbear from a deep frown, thinking about the beginning of the Wutai campaign and the losses we have already suffered; soldiers die every day in ambushes, insignificant skirmishes, and we are moving forward too slowly, which dissatisfies me. Yet, little depends on me personally, because Masumi and the rest of the Shin-Ra forces haven't gotten far, having encountered the same monsters I did at Fort Tamblin; each mission has to be supervised by one of the elite SOLDIERs, for otherwise, zealous and fearless Wutai mercilessly slay the regular infantry without much effort. Our initial advantage notwithstanding, conquering Wutai is not the easy task Lazard and the President thought it to be.

Casualties for today consisted of two soldiers from my units, and I do not know how many lives were lost in the operations led by both of my friends. Angeal and Genesis are on their missions, the encampment is half-empty for the second day, and I feel even more detached than usually. What occurs behind the walls of my tent interests me little, for I never saw myself as a part of a common soldier's life or entertainments; nor did I feel much affinity to those people after my first thirteen years had been spent in isolation and the next two in solitude. I remember my first days outside Midgar and all the new, strange emotions that followed, however, they numbed soon as I realized what I had been raised for – and that was to take other's lives.

I also remember what I felt then, and it wasn't just shock or perplexity. During battles that at the beginning could as well have been my last, I felt alive; for this reason I slowly grew to enjoy the fighting.

I felt alive only after I understood what it meant to die.

Suddenly, loud voices come from the outside as three soldiers go past my tent, conversing sprightly, and those sounds tear me out of the deep cogitation I am usually lost in when completely alone. Following the standard procedure, I resolutely fill out the dead numbers, sign the report, and put it into the sealed envelope. A sentry outside my tent waits until I am done to deliver it to the main Shin-Ra headquarters by helicopter; although I can report the events by phone, the board of Directors wants every detail documented.

Thereupon, I rise to stretch my numbing muscles, pace up and down the small room of the tent I ended up sharing with both of my friends, my eyes involuntarily darting towards Genesis' cot the moment a thought about my lover flashes through my mind. It is empty, yet something piques my interest amid the scattered clothes and spare gear, a corner of a light leather cover I notice, having squinted my eyes. I gently pull it out from underneath the pillow, running my fingers over the familiar scarlet title, 'Loveless'. Pages rustle in my hands as I slowly look through the book my lover seems obsessed with, wondering what it is there that retains his attention.

"_When the war of the beasts brings about the world's end__  
__The goddess descends from the sky…"_

With a faint smile I close the book and put it back whereat the redhead left it, having carefully placed the pillow over it. During the war we don't get to spend much time together, yet each moment we are able to steal feels somehow more significant.

"May I come in, Sir?"

Clark's voice interrupts my thoughts; I swiftly rise and lean against the edge of the table, furthest from my lover's cot. I make sure our relationship is still kept a profound secret from everyone, including my older friend, and I cannot let my affection to the redhead show in any way.

"You may, lieutenant."

With the rest of my men I am on strictly professional terms; realizing my personality is hardly winsome, I believe only my prowess and battle experience can win their respect and trust.

With my permission, Lieutenant Clark enters the tent, looking rather bewildered, his uniform in disorder I would reprimand if he was on duty. There is slight difference in his behavior after I had been interviewed on television; it is barely noticeable, yet I felt it at once, even if I haven't yet understood the meaning of it.

"Orders have arrived from General Masumi," Clark begins after a befitting salute I dismiss with a nod. "The next village on our way is an important part of a supply route, and he wants us to… I am sorry, Sir, here are the papers with details."

He hands me the sealed orders encrypted in a special language Shin-Ra analysts designed for military purposes should the secret information be intercepted and read by the enemy. In normal circumstances I would need a decoder, but with me the President cheated again; I have been taught the code along with many other useful military skills as a part of my SOLDIER training.

I quickly look over the new orders – I will peruse them later – and turn to face Clark again; the lieutenant awaits explanations of his duties for tomorrow.

"Assemble the unit for the regular morning exercise; we will set out towards the village of…" I glance at the papers, "Hima at twelve hundred. No delays are acceptable."

"Are we… are we going to raze the village?"

"No, lieutenant. Our orders are to secure a passage, everything else depends on us."

"I understand, Sir." He seems relieved and at the same time anxious to say something else, but still chooses to take his leave. I dismiss him, already shifting my gaze back to the papers I am still holding, when he suddenly adds.

"I never thanked you for going into the Fort alone and saving many lives… Sephiroth… Sir…"

I curtly nod to show his appreciation is acknowledged, yet don't feel like adding anything to this slightly more personal discourse between us. Clark waits for a few moments, then finally lifts the cloth that hangs over the exit.

"Good night, Sir."

It wasn't as much of a personal choice to fight the Wutai at Fort Tamblin alone, as Lieutenant Clark says it was, but if it helps him realize he needs to trust me more, I won't be the one dissuading him.

Then my thoughts return to the mission at the village of Hima. I scrutinize the map with diligence, searching for possible traps on our way, yet it seems that, aside from the last part, which passes between hills, the route is safe. The village itself is in the narrow valley with a creek a few miles away, a rather unobtrusive place if not for the gorge. The gorge is what makes this settlement so important, it seems, but I decide to make my final judgment as soon as we get there.

Tomorrow should be an interesting day.

With that thought, I slip out of my leather attire, extinguish the lamp, and my tent plunges into darkness.

* * *

A gray band on reddish linen, the gorge meanders between rocky hills covered in thin grass and wilted trees, which cling to arid soil with crooked roots and even in summer bear scarce verdure. It opens into the narrow valley, a home to five or thereby dozens of wooden houses with familiar curved roofs and a small temple in the centre, wherefrom the rest of structures spread as ripples from a stone thrown into a lake. All about the village is endless green linen of fields that encircle it, vert overflowing even the serpentine streets, and blooming bushes dust the chalice of the valley below, like diamond powder of stars – a nocturnal welkin.

That comparison comes to my mind, as this is how Genesis described the night once and I remembered it so different it seemed then; I simply thought of night and stars, and gifts nature offers us lavishly.

The skies cleared towards noon, promising warmth with fresh wind, and now shadows of clouds slowly drift across the dale in the wildest of shapes. I follow them with my eyes until they disappear behind the line of horizon whereat the vale blends with the welkin and I can no longer discern colors and details.

This is why Hima is so important to Masumi, I understand then; it is the shortest supply and communication route, which – if not secured – would present a significant hindrance to further advances. While we would be forced to find another, longer way around the gorge and hills, our enemies would have the opportunity to redeploy troops at our rear, a threat even the least talented commander is able to realize.

The descent down the rocky path doesn't take long, and soon we enter the village, marring its peaceful oblivion with clangs of steel, occasional shouts, and crumpled grass. Men, women, and children stop their routine work, in inimical silence staring at us from behind the wattled fences covered in ivy; barefoot, bare-headed, clothes tucked in so that dirt wouldn't stain it, they look utterly defenseless, yet I don't let down my guard, for illusory placidity often antecedes an ambush. My fingers twine around the handle of Masamune as we approach the central square and the temple to the Leviathan god I have quite often seen around the country. So far no one has attempted to attack us although the crowd slowly gathers behind, as a tail persistently following my unit. This elicits slight chagrin – civilians should stay away from the war.

"Do you think they are planning something, Sir? " Clark anxiously inquires, to which I calmly shrug my shoulders.

"I will save my final judgment for later."

At the square we are awaited by the small detachments of defenders; however few, they seem to be resolutely expecting whatever upshot our presence might bring. A man in front is the village elder – I learned to recognize those by a distinctive pattern on their clothing – and he deliberately keeps to shelter of the temple, as though hoping it would give him strength should there be a battle between us. My unit gathers behind me and in-between houses that surround the sacred temple.

I let go of the handle of my sword and near the elder with respect and yet with pride, which clearly tells that negotiations are clemency Shin-Ra showed them and I can take what I need by force. The greetings are exchanged in silence, the elder not troubling himself with warmth or readiness to obey. Proud he is and certain of his might, as if my quick conquest of Fort Tamblin herein remains unheard of.

"We know who you are, silver warrior of Shin-Ra." He speaks first. "Why you came, however, is what we wish to find out. Did your superiors, consumed by greed of power, send you for our people? If so, turn back, and never show your face here again!"

By the end of his speech, the elder is trembling with righteous ire, but the only reaction he gets from me is a faint, fading smile.

"I was sent here to ensure the safety of the passage for our supplies that would be coming from the main continent, which means that the only request my superiors have is that of your readiness to cooperate. The village would be disarmed and a small garrison of Shin-Ra troops left here as a necessary precaution, however, we don't intend to intervene with your lifestyle."

The elder smirks into my face. "You have already meddled with our lives. Look around, stranger, look closely; you invaded our village, interrupted our daily work. Approaching our temple with weapons, you have already committed sacrilege. What more proof do you need?"

"I am not here to play upon words, esteemed elder," I retort coldly. "I will ask one last time – will you or will you not abide by a peaceful policy Shin-Ra offers?"

Flaring in sunlight, swords fly out of sheath, Lieutenant Clark shouts an order I stop with a curt gesture, whereupon silence ensues, sharp as surrounding my body steel. I don't make a single movement that would betray my fear or uncertainly; wind plays with flaps of my coat, wrapping leather around my legs and silver hair around my shoulders straps.

I am still waiting for a more civilized answer, counting precious moments.

"Stay away from us, invaders!" A woman's voice suddenly shouts from the crowd, and a few others join it with clear enmity even the gestures – fists lifted to the skies – do not hide. I do not turn to look closer, unwilling to tear my gaze away from the middle-aged warrior and his retinue even for a split second; tensions are growing, with every minute leaving me more and more inclined to believe there will be no peace between us. An inaudible sigh passes my lips, an expression of regret, for I don't see reasons for bloodshed.

The ground underneath me shudders, a deafening explosion rings in the air, and a building to my left belches flames out of its windows and doors as its walls collapse like those of a cardboard box, nonchalantly scattering bodies as a player would whisk away pawns from the chess board. The force of explosion is not strong enough to affect me or the elder and his warriors, only those closest to its source; the crowd immediately rushes into the town, leaving three dead among two dozens of maimed bodies in Shin-Ra uniform. Loud groans and screams drown even the crackling of flames that avidly spread over the nearby structures, tongues clinging to curved roofs and creeping into the windows. Glass is bursting from heat, wounded are yelling, and amid this mayhem calmly fly up and fall six swords, five wielded by the Wutai and the sixth one being my Masamune.

Staggering, Lieutenant Clark emerges from the veil of acrid smoke with a bloodied face – parrying a thrust, I see him in the corner of my eyes – shouts something, but I cannot help him, having to fight my own battle with a treacherous adversary. Cold anger seethes inside me, but it only adds sharpness and precision to my blows.

The swing of Masamune scatters my opponents, even flattens a few, and before they recover, I pivot on my heels to thrust my blade into someone's chest and tear it out with a spurt of carmine droplets. The elder parries my blow, attempts to clasp Masamune to the ground, yet despite his effort it flies up before his warriors are close enough to harm me. Steel meets steel, once again claiming a life; enraged, they fall on me without any order or formation, from right, left, even from behind, and to defend myself I have to spin round and round, however only I emerge nearly unscathed. The elder has a thin scratch across his chest from a thrust that beheaded another warrior.

By the time the rest of my unit recovers and opens fire, the village defenders are either dead or mortally wounded and only the elder stands straight, panting, his back pressed to the wall of the temple. The tip of Masamune freezes inches from his chest, yet the middle-aged man with the name I forgot to ask smiles, showing no fear or confusion. His lips move in a whisper, a prayer of sorts I suspect, and then he lunges forward, impaling himself onto the Masamune; crimson spills onto steel, yet instead of falling, the Wutai elder suddenly swings his arm and aims at my heart. It takes both my inhuman speed and reflexes to dodge that thrust and even so, through pain of rending muscles, I feel a cold flourish of steel on my forearm together with a thin trickle dripping along leather and skin. A bullet whizzes past my shoulder, hits the elder in the chest, spattering me with blood, and the dead body finally slumps onto the ground, smiling a vacant smile.

"Bastard!" Clark spits with rage and kicks a corpse. "Two dozens of my best men… dead… all because of this slimy little bastard! Sorry, Sir… I am not thinking clearly right now, I served with them over a year and each one… Bastard!"

"Next time," I muse darkly, pulling my blade out of the elder's chest, "we will send a scout first."

By now, thick smoke is dispelled by the wind blowing away from the village, baring a square bestrewn with more dead bodies I pass round, looking for those alive. There aren't many, or, rather, among the ashes and torn off limbs I find only one wounded soldier, and even his injuries are hopeless. With a gesture I call for Lieutenant Clark, who is closer to his men, and leave the two alone, facing death I have faced since I was thirteen. It no longer affects me as it did before, nor do I need excuses for myself, allowing my emotions to numb with each forsaken dead body and claimed life. I am no longer naïve to believe my deeds are performed for some greater good.

Above me, the sun has passed zenith, a white-hot ring sliding towards horizon, but I feel its warmth together with heat from the recent flames that are still smoldering among ruins. Trees fling their long shades over the ground, luring me to seek coolness underneath the wide crowns. My hair is slightly damp from sweat and I lean against the rough bark of the trunk, enjoying brief sensation of chill and relief.

From where I stand, the village of Hima looks ravaged.

"My mama says you are evil. And scary." I flinch at the sound of child's voice, whose holder appears from the field overgrown with weed and untended for, likely, years. "She says you killed many of us at the big fort."

The boy is young, not older than six, and walks in an ungainly manner, slightly limping on his left leg and smiling a smile I don't return. He speaks of killing as I do - as if it's a meaningless matter, only his words betray his lack of understanding, while mine reflect a burden of understanding too much.

"I did."

"But I don't think you are scary," the child continues as though my previous words were not spoken, "I think you are like my older brother, only sad, very sad. My mama says my older brother will be like my father one day; then he will be sad, too."

"Kei, get away from him!" The voice from behind is high-pitched, tinged with terror. A woman's. However, she dares not come near us so that I can see her face. I shrug my shoulders, no longer watching the dark-haired child in threadbare clothing, but the cloudless skies instead.

"Go to your mother."

"My mama still thinks you are scary," the boy does not move, announcing with an expression of unwavering self-importance, "but with your huge sword you did nothing to me."

"Go to your mother," I repeat. The boy sticks out his tongue with familiar obstinacy I recognize from knowing Genesis for a while.

"Not scared."

"Kei!"

"Not scared, not scared…"

What an annoying child, I think, folding my arms with determination to ignore him and thus not rouse his interest in my persona any further.

"Please, sir, let him go!"

Does it look like I am impeding him in any way?

Then another voice rings, calmer, older, and words are spoken with hubris, in the speaker betraying the youth's older brother.

"Stay where you are or I'll kill you!"

With vexation I understand that the villagers won't leave me to my thoughts and, having pushed the tree trunk aside, walk away from the soothing coolness of shadows. I don't get far before a shuriken hits against my shoulder pad with a screech. Masamune unsheathed, I pivot on my heels to find only emptiness and white flower petals the trees shed around me, like snowflakes; one lands onto my open palm.

"Don't move or…"

The next shuriken I catch with my bare hand and, despite a prick of pain, discard with a nonchalant expression. "I don't fight children."

This time there is no answer.

The grass obediently stoops when I step on it, cut with my long sword, snowflakes of flowers are still falling, thick as rain and weightless as specks of dust. It happens often, when I feel I don't understand people around me, and it seems the misunderstanding is mutual.

On the destroyed square, Lieutenant Clark and the rest of his unit seem to have finished their farewells and even gathered all bodies for later burial; they lie, black dots on black ground, and snowflakes of flower petals, carried with the wind, land around them and quiver. I glance at the macabre sight, but one out of many I have seen and will be seeing, making a mental remark to be more careful even around helpless, defenseless villagers next time; however, my thoughts return to the urgent necessities very soon.

"Leave the small garrison to secure our victory. We are returning to the base."

Lieutenant Clark nods, awkwardly twiddling something in his hands. "What about Madison, Sir? Should we… search…"

"Second lieutenant Madison is dead."

I turn around and close my eyes.

* * *

"Sir, I need to see you."

The early evening finds me back at the tent in desolation I choose over the company of mourning soldiers, and once again a blank chart of a report lies in front of me. I didn't have a chance to finish it, interrupted by my first lieutenant once again. However, when Clark enters, rising to greet him, I notice that something is distinctively wrong with his composure this time.

"May I ask you a question, Sir? How do you bear it?" He slumps onto the stool and I regard him with unhidden bewilderment, realizing what feels wrong about his behavior the moment a strong smell of alcohol touches my sensitive nostrils. None, not even the President himself, can forbid regular soldiers to drink when they are relieved of duty; I know that alcohol consumption can get any First Class fired, but the standards for the army were always lower. "Yesterday three of my men died in an ambush, two days before that – two stumbled upon a mine; one died, the other had his leg torn off. And today… They were all so young."

I realize Clark hardly comprehends what he is saying and to whom, that, being sober, he wouldn't allow himself such boldness, and therefore change my initial intention to retort harshly.

"You grow numb to it."

Eyes watching a speck of light on black leather of my coat, I reply quietly, and the metal of my shoulder strap is cold underneath my cheek, not warmer than the words I said and the notes in my voice. Having turned out to be a lot more comfortable than the heavy uniform of the regular First Class, the new uniform feels as a second skin now, as though I've been wearing it for a whole lifetime.

"I keep telling that to myself, Sir, but…" he ungainly waves his hand to stop himself from falling, "we haven't been that successful after Fort Tamblin. We haven't gotten far, and so many have died already…"

Was it the discipline problem that I subconsciously awaited?

"What answer are you expecting of me, lieutenant?"

"To tell me what will happen next honestly, Sir. When will these meaningless deaths stop and we will be advancing at full speed?"

I shake my head. "I don't know that myself."

"Is it politics again, Sir?" He inquires with sudden unconcealed jealousy. "You are our commander, you are supposed to know, and I am left out…"

I straighten, now looking directly into my subordinate's eyes, all previous sympathy gone from my voice as I utter, "You are right, lieutenant, I am your superior, but there will be no politics on the battlefield."

Clark's eyes brighten up in recognition as he slowly looks around the tent, insipid surroundings – from three cots to my table with a small lamp on it – registering in his mind.

"Sephiroth, Sir, I am sorry…" he pales and attempts a salute with that unsteady hand of his.

"Apologies accepted, lieutenant. We have our orders, and beyond that little depends on us personally unless we are generals. If you wish to ask Lazard any questions…"

"No, Sir, I am much better now."

He hastily retreats into the darkness of our temporary encampment, ashamed of this display of weakness in front of a superior officer, it seems, or there is something else between him and I, which is beyond me to understand.

I straighten my uniform and dismiss the unpleasant thoughts and feelings my subordinate's visit provoked. Suddenly I wish Genesis were here, but I know he won't arrive until tomorrow evening at best.

* * *

_Hojo is clearly content with something. He is rarely smiling, if ever, but today he even cackles as he sees me entering the lab after my second mission when I had to kill a human being. I take a seat silently, feeling the scent of blood on my gloved hands, yet unwilling to take a few extra steps to wash them. In my head I am desperately searching for a reason it has to be that way, however, other than a slippery guess my deeds served some grand purpose for the good of humanity, nothing comes to my mind. Quiescent, I stare at my _father_, eyes not blinking and breath – a tight knot in my chest. _

_Why did my mother have to die? _

"_I wasn't wrong about you from the very beginning. He-he." Hojo measures me with his vacant eyes, as if he possesses the ability to see through me. "You overcame the natural fear of taking a human life faster than I have ever seen. It is your second time only, but you do it with a steady hand of an adult specimen. Amazing, truly amazing. You will go far."_

_Why? _

_I cannot force myself to ask simple questions, partially since __Professor__ never replies to them, dismissing me as though I __don't_ _deserve to know the answer. Left to find reasons on my own, I often don't know what to think, dismissing one guess after another until the right answer is found. _

_I can still see a faceless body before my eyes as the excitement of battle dies out, leaving me alone with bloodied hands and stench of death, and a new rising emotion. _

_Exhausted, I shield my eyes with my hand. _

_Hojo's face emerges from quivering darkness as he circles me, staring at my face with unwelcome attention. _

"_I couldn't have possibly foreseen such success. Tell me, did you feel _it_?"_

_With those words my composure finally cracks and I run out of the room, dashing towards the elevator without any idea where I would go, only wanting the place to be as far away from Professor's lab as possible. _

_I halt in the bathroom on the fiftieth floor, panting, fighting a nauseating sensation a sight of blood spurting from a lacerated wound left, and open a cold tap. A stream of water washes the dark stains off my leather gloves, but it can't efface the answer to Hojo's last question._

_I know what Professor meant and I know I felt _it_ although it perturbs me no less than the memory of how I took someone's life again. _

_For the first time in my short life - a life spent living in a lab, a life that always belonged to scientists, researches, and instructors, a life that never belonged to myself – for the first time in my existence, I actually felt I had overwhelming power over _something_. _

_The feeling was liberating..._

"Sephiroth, you look dismal. Did anything happen?"

Genesis approaches silently; a breath of wind on the grass is louder than his steps, weightless and soundless, as if illusory. They interrupt the flow of memories, and somehow I am glad they do.

Feeling relieved, I inhale fresh evening air that seeps through the small chink of a window and open my eyes. "No, I was just thinking…"

The redhead laughs. "Don't think. It is harmful for your pretty silver head."

Our gloved hands join for the split second we are in the tent, leather brushing against leather, yet I let go of his fingers the moment we are in the open, having become objects of curiosity. I still cannot understand the significance of these little gestures, but if they seem to be important for the redhead, I am more than willing to comply.

"When did you come back?"

"Five minutes ago, but I wanted to see you first."

How very Genesis, I think with a faint smile, to have personal matters come before SOLDIER's duties. We turn towards the dormant forest, seeking a few moments to ourselves in a tumult that will swallow us sooner than we wish. Wind touches my cheek, throwing a silver lock across my face I whisk away in a swift gesture, and only then do I set foot onto the pathway that leads away form the encampment and – it seems – into a different realm. Trees with crowns touched by sunset close down upon us, silent and unusually lifeless, and not a sound is heard from the thicket, not even a flap of nocturnal bird's wings. Once we are concealed from prying eyes, Genesis casts aside his veneer of formality and slumps onto the ground without much grace or regard to my presence.

"Honestly, I think you look awful, Sephiroth."

"Do I?" I cast a curious glance at my lover before joining him in a relaxed pose – head across his lap – on the ground. The grass is pleasantly cool even through leather of my coat I didn't take off but instead smoothed out underneath. "I was merely contemplating."

He smirks, gently gathering my scattered hair and flinging it across my chest; as is everything about him, the gesture is impetuous, yet doesn't lack affection. Genesis rarely fails to express how much he loves my hair. "All right, tell me what you are thinking of."

"Of many things," I reply vaguely. "Take materia, for example. The iota of the knowledge and wisdom of the previous generations is held in it. Anyone with this knowledge can freely use the powers of the land and the Planet. That knowledge interacts between ourselves and the Planet, evoking what everyone calls magic. I was taught all of it a long time ago, but then…" I feel one corner of my lips quirk up. "What use of this knowledge can I make?"

"I have not the slightest idea, but why would you even want to know?"

"One would think that way, yet I need to see the reason behind…"

"Then tell me," Genesis impatiently interrupts with a stubborn frown, "what the gift of the goddess is."

I raise myself on the elbow, ready to reply, however, with surprise realize I don't know what to say; slightly confused, I lower my head onto my lover's lap again.

"I fail to see the relevance."

"You always seek a reason, but there are things that cannot be analyzed the way you want. For instance, this forest around us, the perpetual and yet fragile beauty of it, the feeling you have, sitting here, now, in the heart of pristine nature…"

"Humph, trees produce oxygen we need for survival."

The redhead measures me with suddenly bright azure eyes, a sign my temperamental lover is frustrated with me. "All right, this wasn't the best example, even though you misunderstood the meaning of my words… How about," he bends over me, features blurring into a shapeless spot, and unexpectedly passes his tongue over my closed lips, a teasing flicker gentle enough for me to feel its warmth, "a kiss?"

"Pleasure," I object as seriously as I can, yet a smile is already struggling through the layers of sham indifference.

"Oh, Gaia, how I hate when you are so dispassionate and calculating about everything!" Exclaims Genesis, and the next moment I find myself sprawled on the ground, my hips trapped between slender but strong legs, whose holder now towers above me in fury. "Maybe, this you will call just a bodily movement and that you will call…" having forgotten himself, he passes his hand over my groin, for an instant frozen like that, eyes widening as I flinch from the unfamiliar sensation his touch arouses.

Genesis' anger is imbibed by the awkwardness of the moment as easily as is it usually flares up.

"I…"

He hastily slips off me, avoiding my eyes as I sit up and willfully slowly pull blades of grass out of my long hair. However, my undertaking proves futile, when, tired of silence, Genesis simply puts both of his palms onto my shoulders and, kissing, lowers me back onto the grassy carpet. Gloved fingers ghost over my skin, the buckle of my coat comes unclasped, and I manage to wriggle myself out of it without breaking the hungry kiss. Intuition or not, we switch once again the moment I am freed of my leather outerwear, and Genesis glances at me with a faint smile, as though he knows something I am not aware of.

"Tell me," he teases, slowly biting at the leather glove and pulling it off his palm with his teeth, "do you want to try?"

The redhead's slender leg slowly moves along my hip-line, action finishing his thought instead of words, and I, despite having no experience in relationships, understand what he means. However, the curiosity I feel for exploring what sensual pleasure means fights with the awkward thought that I have no idea what I am to do next, notably if I want to please my lover. Twigs snap underneath my palms as I lean on both of them, one on each side of Genesis' smug face, and to hide my slight confusion try to bring our lips together, a futile attempt to conceal my feelings. Genesis stops me by sliding his other still gloved hand in-between.

Leather feels hardly as pleasant as his lips.

"Oh, almighty and omniscient Sephiroth can't admit he doesn't know something." There is acerbity in the tone of his melodic voice, but it sounds feigned, drowning in an unhidden azure mockery of his gaze. He feels superior and savors every moment of this fleeting triumph, fleeting, for I am unwilling to show he has just put his finger on the crux.

Yet, with the redhead what I desire and what I don't hardly ever mattered, for he forestalls all my intention by boldly undoing his uniform and swiftly discarding his high-heeled boots. I am left with watching, wondering why it was only a few months back that I felt differently seeing the inveigling tilt of his head and the curve of bare narrow shoulder. I refuse to look lower, feeling awkward when confronted by Genesis' candid and shameless audacity.

"Just admit it," with a faint glow on his cheeks the redhead slips his hands underneath the leather straps, "and… I will… show you…"

His words are alternated with kisses as lips are moving along the line of my neck, flutter on the collarbone, and return to exploring my mouth; I strip my gloves off and press his naked body into mine, fingers delving into every graceful flexure on the smooth back I can find.

"All right, I admit," I breathe into my lover's ear the moment his lips free mine; now I hardly care of anything but his body in my hands, its refined lines – from shoulders to hips – all alluring warmth and smoothness, which begets my own passion. The next kiss is all roughness instead of tenderness, lips devouring lips, and then Genesis pushes me against the tree trunk and unbuckles my belt. Leather slides off my hips, his naked body flows between my legs, one palm – on my chest, his eyes – darker, deeper than I have ever seen. I am not watching him, keeping our eyes level, until his other palm, covered in something viscous and warm, slips between my knees and fingers wrap around my flesh. Slow touches send bolts of excitement through my whole body, almost involuntarily I lean into his movements, and for the first time a moan escapes my lips.

Genesis' mouth swallows it hungrily, eyelids fall over my eyes, and I throw my head back against the cool bark of a tree, shutting off all thoughts and emotions, aside from ecstasy my lover's hand slowly drags me into. Even in the strain of battle I never felt that way, as if there are waves of pleasure rolling in and back underneath my skin; each sensation is sharp, new, distinct, and with each caress I want, demand more. My palms clench around seemingly frail shoulders, and through quickened breath all I can whisper is a faint, "Faster," into the redhead's ear. He obeys, and with a final rough stroke I am sent tumbling down into darkness with a sharp moan. The strain is relieved, but the sensation of bliss doesn't go away, and although the redhead moves, I don't, keeping my eyes closed and head motionlessly resting on my chest. Wind cools my bare skin, and I don't object when the redhead, still undressed, slips behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders and legs – around mine.

"That wasn't hard, was it?"

I reluctantly part my lips for a curt answer. "No." Not on my part at least.

"I think that's enough for the first time."

He is smirking, I hear it, but pay no heed to his words or how they are spoken, gushing in the sea of new sensations and emotions that roam freely through me and around me, content with just my head resting on Genesis' chest and his slender fingers repeating meaningless caresses, gliding through long silver tresses scattered on my back…

* * *

The next morning I finally receive a call from Lazard, however, the next orders from him are hardly new. Masumi has encountered fierce resistance on his route of advance, and, waiting for him, our units won't be moving either.

I wonder if there is more to those words than the Director is willing to share.


	12. Chapter XI

_**A/N:**_ SephyRocks, I am so-so glad to hear that you think my portrayal of Sephiroth turned out so well.

My most sincere thanks to my beta, AlexJ69! And, well, more Sephiroth. :P

* * *

_Chapter XI._

From whence I sit, leaning against the painted wall, I can see the entire village – rows of houses intermingled with simple household utensils – bathe in last sunrays of a waning summer day. As most dwellings in Wutai, it is nothing like Midgar under its plate, nothing like dirty streets flooded with greenish light, or crowds of people purposelessly loitering in the narrow alleys. Life here or in those villages, like Hima, I saw heretofore, seems to follow some sort of a ritual, a pattern that doesn't form in my mind if I think about it for too long; yet, now, like this, it seems so obvious. Simplicity dominates the surroundings, showing in the motley clothing women and men are wearing, in implements they are using to till the land and gather the crops, which – contrary to my usual detachment – I find rather interesting. Once Genesis mistook my interest in Wutai culture for interest in Wutai women, but I dismissed his remark with a barely noticeable shrug of my shoulders. I don't get attracted to people as easily as they seem to be drawn to each other, for I _knew_ – I have learned – how to live without them from an early age.

By the wooden porch, children are carelessly playing in red dust, and the green linen of field is dotted with stooping silhouettes of people – men alongside with women – working on the land; occasionally, a passerby casts a sidelong glance at us sitting in the open dressed in full SOLDIER's uniform, despite the heat, yet, otherwise, life seems to flow as per usual. Villagers shun large groups of soldiers and don't start the conversation unless approached, yet I don't feel the obvious enmity we were met with in other places. I presume everything depends on the village elder, how zealous or peaceable he is, and with these observations a certain conclusion begins to form in my mind. It is early to speak of it for certain and my findings need more thought, but if I am correct, there exists a way of defeating all Wutai warlords one by one.

It is our second day in this settlement that… I wanted to think hospitably opened its gates before us, but, in fact, the hospitality had to be ensured by the demonstration of our nearly fourfold advantage, whereafter the village elder was _kind_ enough to provide quarters and provision. Until I have clearer orders, our units are not moving anywhere, for I find neglecting soldier's needs an egregious error that may eventually prove to be fatal to morale. Bereaved of simple human amenities for too long, they might lose motivation, or whatever remainder of it that still drives them to fight.

The lake by the house of the village elder is still, except for an occasional eddy, and from time to time I shift my eyes to watch sunlight spots flicker on ripples. My older friend and I are sitting on low stools, legs almost flat on the mat-covered floor; wooden bowls with rice and vegetables stand on the table untouched, growing cold while we are expecting Genesis to join us for the meal and conversation. Each time the redhead's name resurfaces in my mind or during the discourse, it is followed by an image of him sprawled on my coat, cerise lips folded in a smirk as a whisper tickles my ear, dares, "Do you want to try?"

What he suggested was definitely worth it; although I was familiar with the anatomy of the human body and subjected to certain desires, until recently I did not suspect how much pleasure can be received from a rather simple reciprocal action.

"Sephiroth, are you listening?"

Slightly confused, I glance at Angeal, who, apparently, has been speaking to me all the time I was engrossed in thinking about my lover.

"I was…" a ghost of a smile flickers on my lips, "I thought about how we neutralized…"

"Oh, never mind, Sephiroth," Angeal rolls his eyes at my rather awkward excuse and takes a sip from a glass filled with lucid, fresh water. "So I was talking about Banora and how similar the orchards are to the fields in Wutai. I wonder if after the war is over, some of the Shin-Ra employees will be allowed to settle here… I mean, if we have a victory, of which I am not so sure any more."

There is a barely noticeable wrinkle on my older friend's forehead and a trace of worry in steel-grey eyes, a sign of a misgiving I share to an extent. It is quite possible to lose if Shin-Ra officials do not change the overall strategy.

"We will," over the glass rim, I am watching a young girl timorously shrink by the porch and cast a curious glance at us, only to hide the moment my eyes involuntarily meet hers. However, she does not leave, here and there flashing sand-colored hair that can be seen through the wooden decoration of the porch as her silhouette glides towards the entrance door. "The battle for Wutai, the one to determine our fate, will not be fought here or tomorrow. If Masumi fails to make any progress, one of us will be appointed in his place, and…"

"Do you seriously think that it will change things dramatically?"

"I believe so." The girl is now hiding behind the door, and I begin to suspect she is not a mere idler but is definitely waiting to snatch a moment to tell us something. "By the way, do you know who escaped me at Fort Tamblin a few weeks back?"

"I have no clue. Why?"

"I should have known it was Maetsuki, the First Lance; I should have recognized him after the negotiations with the Wutai leaders, yet I simply let him slip out of my hands impermissibly easily."

I hear someone's faint steps and, it seems, Angeal does as well, for we both turn simultaneously at the sound of the door being slid off. I am expecting to see the sand-haired girl and not Genesis, who enters, wearing a bedazzling and somewhat smug grin across his face.

"I see you were rather bored and hungry without me," he announces, gesturing towards the untouched bowls of rice, "but do not worry. I will make it up to you."

"Oh, is that so?" As the last words seem to be addressed to me, I arch my brow, all the mockery drowning in the intensity of his azure gaze, and for a moment those eyes belong to me only.

Our silent duel is interrupted when Angeal gives a tactful cough and, to attract our attention, places a glass onto the table with an unnaturally loud din. Still clueless, for we are carefully hiding our relationship, our mutual friend thinks that, perhaps, we are in our usual mood for variance.

Having recovered, Genesis puts a small box onto the table and slides into the seat by my side, his hand boldly lingering on my thigh, despite the table top being narrow and despite the presence of our older friend. Is it what he called '_letting Angeal in slowly'_ the other day in my room? I feel my usual equanimity crack in the redhead's close proximity, when my enhanced senses sharpen the faint clover smell of his hair and heat from his fingers on the glossy leather, and therefore, to my displeasure, am compelled to remove his persistent hand.

Haughty, mercurial, a dazzling daring smile curving the corner of his lips and flashing through auburn tresses, Genesis – the very epitome of what I will never become – leans forward and with a significant glance wraps his fingers around the handle of the box he brought.

"While you were eating the food of virgins and vegetarians," a condescending scoff follows the redhead's words, "I, your hero and your savior, procured _this_."

He gently removes the clasp, and the next few moments both Angeal and I spend speechlessly staring at the contents. Exhaling a delicate aroma, on slightly thawed cubicles of ice, lies a long dozen of opened shells filled with tender meat.

"Oysters?" Finally, a gift of speech returns to our older friend. "Where did you…"

"… get them?"

"Did you steal them?"

With a genuinely puzzled look, Genesis shifts his eyes from Angeal's face to mine. "Oh, my friend, how could such a dishonorable thought cross your mind?"

"I wasn't going to…"

"I got them from a local fisherman, who in turn got them from a fisherman on the coast, and I did pay with gil. We deserve some entertainment for our titanic efforts to give Shin-Ra a victory, don't you think?"

The sand-haired girl is nowhere in sight, however, I can still feel her gaze with my back if I concentrate hard enough. Was she the _fisherman_ Genesis mentioned?

"Did you mean – fisherman's daughter?" I inquire to watch my lover's reaction, however, Genesis is as imperturbable as before, even when he adroitly picks up an oyster and it almost slides through his fingers.

"So I did flirt with her a bit and…" Sparkling azure eyes fall on mine, and he falters, realizing that his words are the very source of my obvious dissatisfaction. There is a prick of an unfamiliar feeling in my heart, in the part of it that dislikes picturing Genesis flirting with other women or men; that is the same part, whereof I didn't suspect until one day admitted to being attracted to him in a manner unbecoming to a friend. "It was just harmless talk, I promised nothing…"

For some reasons my lover's excuses only elicit further disappointment, which I hide, slowly and silently savoring the delicate meat of the mollusk and hoping the topic is exhausted. But no, clueless Angeal has to chime in.

"Somehow I am not surprised. When we lived in Banora, Genesis was the most dangerous of all children. You should have seen him, Sephiroth, all charm and politeness, and even adults were easily swayed by his words."

During Angeal's speech Genesis persistently avoids my gaze and – a good enough sign he is feeling awkward – absently twirls an auburn lock around his finger. Its warm glow placates some of my feelings and reasons me into asking a simple, calm question.

"Is this why that girl is waiting for you on the other side the door?"

Angeal and Genesis turn at once to notice the sand-haired girl approach, shyly keeping to the shadows and wooden railings of a porch.

"I brought you more," a small smile finds its way onto her freckled face and lingers there, trembling, as if she is about to cry. "My papa always charges more than they cost and I thought, since you were so nice to me, I could… be as nice… to you…"

Under our piercing gazes, she shrinks even more and sounds less confident with each uttered word. Fear rounds her dark eyes, lips tremble as, step by step, she begins to move backwards until her back rests against the thin wall of the typical Wutai house.

"Don't be afraid, we won't harm you," Angeal breaks the silence first, "but we won't take the gift either. Run to you papa and give it back."

"I am sorry, I thought," paleness on her face changes into blush of deep scarlet, "I thought…"

"Well, there is nothing to think now."

My eyes are silently riveted on Genesis until the sand-colored hair, so unusual for the Wutai women, disappears among the motley clothes of other villagers, and only then do I express my displeasure.

"Having friends among the locals is beyond being simply careless, Genesis. Perhaps, you forgot, but we are in a state of war with Wutai."

From underneath the dark eyelashes, the redhead shoots an angry glance at me, a quick streak of cerulean lightning. "So you are going to spy on every soldier to see whether they sleep with the locals. Sephiroth, this is… laughable."

"You are not a regular soldier," I retort coldly, "you belong to the elite, Genesis, and demands for the elite are always more strict."

My room is draped in light, embroidered with salient pattern cloth and therefore seems darker than the street, a shelter I seek refuge at from myself rather than from Angeal or even my lover. The reasons that made me fret over the redhead's behavior elude me, even that _new_ part of myself, and only a residue of feelings linger, teasing, misleading. Arms folded on my chest, I take a few sharp steps to calm myself, and a curt laugh passes my lips when my thoughts return to the reason of my current state, to that sand-haired girl. A narrow stool that got under my feet I hurl to the side with my boot, eyes blindly riveted on the spot on the wall between a dragon and a Leviathan entwined in perennial fury.

Why I bother even thinking about her, I question myself, surprised with my own emotional and irrational reaction. If Genesis decides to manipulate me or play me for a fool, that will be the last day I am involved with him.

Curtains are fluttering in aromas of summer wind, and from the depths of the house faint music is heard, drowning quiet steps, yet not the words.

"That was one of the lamest excuses I have ever heard, Sephiroth." Genesis states with a tinge of acerbity, yet I prefer this forthright mockery to his previous attempts to explain his behavior.

He enters though the door, a small box with oysters in one hand and a clean piece of cloth in the other, his expression – despite light mordancy in his voice – showing clear signs he wants nothing but reconciliation. Today.

"Perhaps."

"Are you going to…"

"Yes," I reply tersely, "I am going to forget."

Genesis relaxes, casually stretching himself on my bed, pulls a nightstand closer to himself to leave the meal thereat, and with his free hands removes my leather coat. I let him have his way, joining my lover's warm body on the straw mattress between weightless, silken sheets. Now more than ever, I am content with my decision to stay at the village.

"Angeal went to his room," Genesis flashes sapphire flames and an equally bright smile at me, fingers searching for my skin and unhurriedly exploring curves of my shoulders and neck.

We are lying vis-à-vis, eyes locked and lips barely inches away, at a teasing distance to feel warmth and breath but not the flesh. Shades are thick between us, gestures concealed and drowning in intimate semi-darkness even our mako enhanced eyes do not penetrate, willfully.

"What do you suggest?" I inquire with genuine curiosity that lets me forget our previous disagreement.

Genesis reaches out for the nightstand, cloth of his turtleneck brushing against the bare skin of my chest, and returns, clutching something between his thumb and a long finger, something wet and dripping juice. Exquisite, icy taste of oyster meat fills my mouth followed by contrasting warmth of my lover's lips and tongue, gliding against mine. My teeth clench around soft velvety flesh, scraping against my lover's bottom lip, and I deepen the bite with the faint approving noise Genesis makes. His hands free me from the leather straps, haste and need in every movement, and I barely have time to wonder what had aroused him so fast when I feel the familiar wave of heat myself. Arching my neck, I hold it up to the slow but rough tenderness of the redhead's kisses, each bound to leave a mark and yet I am not worried for it to show tomorrow. With my rate of regeneration…

Genesis' lips, hot and soft wrap around my nipples, and I think of naught more, marks, worries, regeneration rates forgotten in an innate desire to feel bare skin brush against bare skin and legs wrap around strong chiseled muscles of my lover's naked body.

I pick up another oyster from the melting ice and, having lowered Genesis onto the sheets, feed him slowly, feeling tightness in my leather pants more distinctly each time his tongue playfully mantles my fingers, licking the sticky juice off. A drop of it lands onto my lover's chin and I draw closer to trace it with my tongue. Then our lips leech onto each other anew, sweet pleasure seeping through our joined bodies, quickened breath following the slow rhythm of hips moving against each other with pressure. With my left hand, I reach out to peel my leather pants off; Genesis rids himself of the outerwear, casting it aside in random direction, and finally our flushed bodies entwine, drowning in long silver tresses of my hair.

Darkness is hot now, like my lover's skin under my nimble fingers, and moans with Genesis' faint voice as my hand travels along his hips and ends up in-between.

"Sephiroth…"

With a quiet plea, the redhead parts his legs, arching towards me until the most sensitive tip of my flesh rests hard against his hipline. Azure eyes are half-closed from pleasure, yet snap open with a painful groan my next uncouth movement provoked.

Resting against both palms, I peer into my lover's face, a light spot slightly above his bended knees, and hope he can see my bewilderment.

"What happened, Genesis?"

Although I expected a smug reaction, the redhead chuckles softly and kindly, pulling me closer to kiss hungrily on the lips. "You are doing it wrong, Seph."

Wrong?

"How?"

"Just… wrong… Don't argue with me."

I wasn't going to.

A finger traces a line on my stomach, reassuring, teasing. Having thrown the wave of silver hair across my shoulder, Genesis steadies my hips with both palms and slowly guides me forward until I am fully buried in his warmth and moist. Then he releases me and leans back onto the pillows, wrapping his legs around my waist, and the moan that escapes him this time is that of pleasure or anticipation of it.

My first move sends a dither through my body, from a twitch inside my lover's heat to a spreading pool of pleasure in my abdomen, and I plunge back in roughly. Genesis reacts eagerly, and soon the pace, a rhythmic sequence of rising and falling, consumes us both. My lover's moans ring tinged with melodic cries, high, resonate notes following every time I reach his core. Devoid of thoughts and images, inner darkness swallows me whole, flashing white underneath my eyelids more and more often as I feel myself nearing the pinnacle. Our bodies move faster, abandoned to a sheer, violent storm, and in my own hoarse breath I can hardly discern Genesis' wanton moans. My lips briefly slide against my lover's, now parted and dry, and before releasing myself, I feel something hot spray against my stomach, a sign of his completion.

Then I freeze atop my lover, still buried deep within, only now aware of beads of sweat sprayed on my skin or gathered into tiny streamlets. Genesis relaxes, still breathing faster, and his fingers busy themselves with twiddling wet silver tresses, which adhered to my shoulders. In turn, I run my hand along my lover's skin, enjoying the smoothness, likely, more acutely than those with less sharp senses.

"Genesis," reluctantly, but for all that I move, leaving my lover's body and lying down by his side.

"Hmmm?"

My lover's eyes do not open.

"Does it… hurt?"

"For the first couple of times it does, but, don't worry, I don't hurt much anymore."

It is more than curiosity, it is that part of myself speaking now, and it needs an honest answer. "Did you… did you have many lovers?"

This time Genesis turns to face me, amusement and tenderness shining through azure moist of his gaze

"I had two, but none of them," his hand gently slides through short silver tresses and rests on my cheek, "none were like you."

I open my mouth to ask more, but the redhead resolutely presses his index finger to my lips. "Sleep, Sephiroth. I will answer all your questions tomorrow."

He curls around my body, the very first living being I shared my bed with, and despite my initial doubts, it somehow feels right.

…Later, much later, when darkness thins with dawn, I remember that oysters are listed among the substances known as strong aphrodisiacs.

* * *

Morning floods the room with bright sunlight, spilling warm yellow pools on the floor, on the walls, on wooden furniture, leaving one on the white coverlet inches away from my fingers. Slowly, unwillingly I open my eyes, shifting them from the sunlit spot to the leather uniform scattered on the floor in utter disarray and then to Genesis serenely sleeping by my side, auburn head against my bare shoulder. Faint clamor reaches my ears from the streets, the cheerful voices of children joining with the familiar sounds of a village life.

For one long moment I even forget I am in Wutai in the middle of a war. However, the faint beep of my phone reminds me of the opposite sooner than I prefer.

With an inaudible sigh, I throw the white sheet off, wrapping another around my waist, and head for the bathroom. Before sliding the door open, I cast one last glance towards the sleeping redhead, letting my eyes linger on his slender thigh exposed between white sheets, and the reminiscent of pleasure I, no, we, gave each other yesterday sends a bolt of excitement through my body. After all, he is my first lover, the first person I ever allowed myself to get close to after long years of feeling no attachment to anyone. Only time will prove how right or wrong I am in my choice.

Every house in the Wutai village I have seen so far is designed the same way, bedrooms abutting upon each other and bathrooms placed at the end of the long hallways. According to my analysis, it is done so purposely, but more due to cultural peculiarities than out of real necessity. Having passed Angeal's room, I slip into the shower cabin and open the tap. Lukewarm water cascades over my shoulders, pleasantly tickling my skin and washing all remaining traces of my first night of love from my skin. I lean against both palms, bending my head on my breast, and let the trickles of water drip along my chin. My thoughts return to the redhead and, as always, I remember our times together, going over some of his words as if attempting to seek a meaning to them I missed. At times, it is hard to understand my lover despite the deep affection I feel towards him, and the reason, I believe, lies in our diverse upbringing.

The white towel wraps like silk around my waist and shoulders as I slowly dab the moisture and then spare a single glance to my reflection in the mirror. To me my face always looks the same – the pallor of skin and green eyes framed in wet silver I suspect I inherited from my dead mother. Unwilling to think of questions that often come to my mind, when I scrutinize my appearance, I leave the shower cabin refreshed and ready for whatever surprises the day might bring.

Angeal meets my eye in the hallway and after a short conversation with my older friend, I return to my room I shared with Genesis the previous night. My lover is already awake and restlessly pacing up and down the room, dressed in full SOLDIER's uniform.

"Good morning, Seph," a warm, fleeting smile, "I wish all war was like yesterday, but… Lazard called while you were taking a shower."

Silver hair trailing me and dripping water, I near the nightstand, where the box with empty oyster shells still stands, and flip the mobile phone open only to see that Genesis was right. This means another mission for me, and something, likely, my intuition, tells me that this time I am not to expect an easy one.

With a light frown I redial the number on the matt screen and wait for several beeps before the Director's voice greets me.

"Sephiroth, we have an emergency."

Mentally, I roll my eyes, yet otherwise keep my expression blank, as Genesis doesn't need to see how bad the state of things is reflected on my face. Likely, he will know all the news himself, sooner or later, but I don't want to be a source of extra concern for my lover.

"I am listening."

"The engagement tonight was a disaster, and now the Western front is slowly retreating under pressure of the superior numbers." The Western front is where Masumi and the main forces are. "I am currently deploying your units to help with the situation, however, Angeal's and Genesis' forces are staying on the Eastern front until the situation clears up." There is an exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. "The losses are heavy. We are not certain of numbers yet, but… Masumi met an equal, whom preliminary reports identify as the First Lance. I am afraid Masumi is not fit to fight him."

_But don't think that if you were bestowed with some titles, Wutai will bow to you. Earn it… if you can…_

The only sign I heard the inauspicious news is the tight grip of my hand around the phone – if I add a tad more, the device will shatter.

"Understood. How soon am I expected to leave?" Did I honestly think they would give me at least half a day to be with my lover?

"You will leave in an hour and take the shortest route through the Yellow Marshes. Once you arrive to the destination, report to Masumi, then to me."

"The Yellow Marshes… I believe this route to be exceedingly dangerous and…"

"The orders came from the President's office, Sephiroth."

This means I have no power to veto them yet and, although everything inside me screams not to take it, I accept the mission.

"What did he say?"

Genesis' worried glance stops me half-way through the room, and it is I, who lower my eyes first, nonetheless replying with an air of nonchalance, "Nothing much, only that Masumi lost a battle, and…"

A shadow runs over my lover's face, and it almost pains me to see calmness gone from his features, erased in instants and replaced with acute anxiety.

"How very typical of you, to say there is nothing to worry about when we have just lost a battle." The redhead dramatically flings his arms. "Do you think I cannot handle the news?"

How very typical of me… I shake my head with a faint smile, already slipping into my leather pants and girding my waist with the black belt. In my defense I can only adduce the lack of knowledge about the real state of matters, even if I suspect it is rather grim.

"Are you…"

"Yes." The leather straps slide into the clasps on my belt and I straighten them on my chest, one crisscross with another. "I have to leave immediately."

Genesis pales, but cannot be all abashed for long, ire spilling out in an abrupt, regal toss of his head and an angry slam of his palm against the guiltless nightstand.

"Damn them! Why couldn't they send us together at least for once? Why am I always treated as… as worst…"

"It is just another mission… and you are _not_ treated as worst." I try.

"Another mission? Another mission is when you are sent to one of those villages and not to aid a retreating army that has recently lost a battle."

At first, the long leather coat feels pleasantly cool on my skin, however, I know I will be sweating in heat soon. Nimble fingers put a single clasp through the metal framing, not mine. My lover's. I look up to find our eyes and lips level as if for a kiss and understand that Genesis is not angry any more.

"What about the dinner with the village elder?"

"We shall dine together when I am back." I force myself to smile, not for my sake, but feeling the redhead needs it. "Pass my farewell to Angeal if I don't see him."

For a moment his auburn head rests in the crook of my neck, a rueful whisper tickling my skin. "I am betossed on a sea of perplexities, and the only slippery rock I cling to is hope." For a moment he goes still in my arms, and then takes a step back, the usual calm and haughty self with just a hint of playfulness in depths of sky-blue eyes.

"I will miss you."

"I will be back in no time," I finish my farewells with a kiss and quickly stride hence, having never shared even a whit of my own worries with my lover.

Some thoughts are mine and only mine to know.

* * *

Shin-Ra military vehicles take us to the Yellow Swamps. About twenty miles thence is the village I left Genesis and Angeal at, about another forty miles into the depth of marshes is Masumi's encampment. The armored vehicles cannot go any further, nor can they take us directly into the camp of retreating units, for the scouts told us to expect a large ambush on the main road. My calculations show that we can reach Masumi's base in two days at best, that is if we don't encounter any monsters that inhabit the area.

A gray band before my eyes, the road unrolls until it verges upon a dark-green line of swamps and curves to the left, skirting them through the fields. Somewhere along this line, hummocks of moss and trees show dark in the distance, their lone, crooked shadows standing out against the background of distant hills and cloudy skies.

It will rain in the evening, when the shaggy puffs of clouds will thicken and draw nearer to the ground, but, so far, the swamps are wrapped in wreaths of mist, which is bearable.

The moment we get off the road, feet sink into soft mire that squelches with each step, and soon it reaches as high as our shins. Tall, sometimes touching the chest of an adult soldier, rush closes in around us, and we have to struggle our way through the swaying sea of verdure, which from here seems endless. Flaps of my heavy coat are covered in dirt, but it has been long since I stopped paying heed to inconveniences like these.

Yet, the marsh is not all green. Here and there I notice glimpses of yellow _Caltha Palustris_, or marsh marigold in a more _human_ language, as Genesis would not doubt correct me had he heard my thoughts. It dots the ground and clings to small humps of moss, hiding in the grass closely to the water source. Apparently, this flower is what gave the name to this area.

"What will you say, lieutenant?"

"I'd say," Clark replies with grim boldness, "that whoever issued this order is a moron, Sir."

To that I silently shake my head.

I divided my units into small narrow chains of people, having ordered them to follow the beaten path one after another and always be on their guard. From time to time, I initiate for a roll call, and then the marshes return to life with echoing voices of men, each naming a number from one to twenty two. I did not take a guide from the locals with me, for the marsh is shallow and, monsters aside, does not represent any danger to our lives. The direction we are following, the compass and other navigational tools are provided by the portable terminal I am equipped with for every mission.

In silence, two hours slip by unnoticed. Lieutenant Clark, who walks by my side, is engrossed in his own thoughts, and only his knife monotonously rises and falls whenever the stem of a reed in his way is thick and unyielding. Four times I had to halt and use Masamune to cut our way through the areas of toughest rush, and each time my sword did not fail me, leaving a bare circle of hewed and stubbed vegetation. Water gathers in the tracks we leave behind on the ground, but the swamp does not get any deeper; nor does it get any shallower. We walk with vigorous strides, faster than I anticipated, and if the rest of my soldiers don't get tired, we might arrive ahead of schedule.

"You never talk about yourself, Sir," Lieutenant Clark remarks suddenly, having cleaved another stem with a faint crunch. "I often wondered how it had happened, that I ended up under the command of someone… someone so young. You must understand my misgivings, Sir…"

"I do." I interrupt calmly, not pleased with the tone and the meaning of the conversation at all. I am not prepared to answer any personal questions my subordinates have, nor do I feel any need for doing so. As hard as it is, I accept the possibility that they will die any day, whereas I, with my skills and endurance, will most likely survive.

"You are seventeen, and all we heard about you comes from a couple of broadcasts about mako and something else… I forgot what it was, Sir."

"You are correct, lieutenant, I am seventeen."

The mire underneath my feet is streaked with yellow marigold and green rush, for some reasons bringing back memories of Genesis and the night we spent together, memories I push back as far as possible. It does not matter, whether I am seventeen, or twenty, or fifty, because it still feels the same – to kill or be killed, something my lieutenant will never understand. Although he is a veteran of a few skirmishes that occurred along the Wutai border last year, he does not understand what it means to grow up with death being constantly behind his shoulders and he never will. What can he know about seventeen years being longer than a lifetime?

"But you were not always a SOLDIER, Sir," he prompts me to talk more, out of curiosity or else I do not bother thinking about.

I always was a SOLDIER, but aloud I don't say a word.

Suddenly there is a bright flash of white in the distance, above the green and brown carpet of swamp reed, like that of a rifle's barrel caught in a chance sunray. All previous words forgotten, I narrow my eyes to look closer, and there it is again, a barely noticeable glimpse of someone's presence in the group of trees about half a mile ahead of us.

Could it be a sniper?

"Lieutenant, did you…"

I never finish the thought. The next events occur so fast that I do not comprehend even a half of them, however, I don't need to as my body reacts to my orders automatically, with speed and deftness, honed by long hours of training.

The whiz of a bullet reaches my sensitive ears, and in the share of a second it is in the air, in the share of a moment that is not enough to move my hand and unsheathe Masamune, I take a step to shield a person, who is walking to my left. I see Clark's eyes, round from surprise, as I turn – slowly, too slowly – and push a soldier to the ground.

The bullet hits against my back, crushing the bones, spattering blood, and leaves my body through the shoulder, but that I no longer feel. Suddenly the mire is too close to my eyes, yellow petals of marsh marigold fluttering in the wind. Water is streaked with floating silver, and the voices in my head are muffled, as if ringing from a dark, deep well.

Then the world bursts in crimson sparks of unbearable pain.


	13. Chapter XII

_**A/N:**_ SephyRocks… well, Seph is hard to render harmless for too long. XD

I had a writer's block. English is my second language and at times it just kills me. My apologies, but my muse is a fickle thing. :P And thanks to AlexJ69 for being my beta!

* * *

_Chapter XII._

_We are standing at arm's length, just the two of us with nothing in-between but thick impenetrable darkness and Hojo's words, ringing in my ears together with loud heartbeat._

"_This is not a drill, not a routine training, Sephiroth. This is your first real mission. This is either him or you."_

_Him or me… me or him… _

_The tip of my katana trembles near the toe of the black boot, and the adversary notices my fear, circling me as a predator circles its trapped prey, with feline grace and seeking signs of my debility. He already tastes a victory, savors its bloody tinge on his tongue, and I see it in his eyes amidst the contempt to the puny boy I seem to him. Slowly I raise my sword until its steel-gray band is level with my enemy's face, dividing it atwain, and count steps that separate us as if they are the last, most precious moments of my life. _

_One… two…_

_My heart leaps up to my dry throat, as he begins to laugh and darkness echoes after him. "Don't be scared, kiddo, I'll make it quick and painless."_

_Three… _

_Me or him… him or me…_

_Four! The sword falls, having never met another obstacle besides the softness of flesh, and around me the darkness stops laughing…_

…Darkness draws back reluctantly, gently swashing against the edges my mind and flashing crimson every time I breathe deeply or stir. My right shoulder feels numb, heavy as lead, and as I pass my fingers over the wound, I find a crust of dry blood on the leather surface. With much ado, my eyelids come unstuck, letting the red glow of embers through only to shut tightly again, for the light scorches my sensitive eyes no less painfully than fires would my bare hand.

I am lying atop what feels like a soft and wet hump of moss, slowly regaining my memories as if snatching them out of that comfortable, alluring darkness. Emptiness in my head, light as air, changes into a series of short, painful visions of me kissing Genesis' lips, of me walking through the sea of green rush, and of me lying face-down in the pool of my own blood. Earlier ones return as well, those that I usually attempt to forget, the mixture of my first years in the labs under close supervision of Professor Gast and then Hojo, of my first missions, first men slain by my hand, first fear…

…_Fear was a weakness… even then, when I was just a thirteen-year-old nameless existence, which simply didn't wish to die… no, not a nameless existence… How ironic it now seems that ever since I was a child I knew I was different, not like others. I was somehow special. _

I force myself to open my eyes. The skies above are dark, bestrewn with miniscule dots of variegated stars, now barely visible through trails of smoke that the faint wind carries, through swaying over my face weightless stems of rush. Their rustle reminds me of a human whisper. It looks like the marsh is stretching its arms towards me in a vain attempt to soothe the gnawing fear, a tight clot somewhere in my stomach that spreads even wider at the thought of me making a mistake. It has been years since I experienced failures, and never were they as internecine, resulting in death and – since we won't get to Masumi on time – possibly, in another defeat.

Much to my dissatisfaction, according to even rough estimations, I have been unconscious for about five hours.

My head is resting on the soft hump of moss, long silver locks entangled with green flakes, and I acutely feel unpleasantly cold swamp water trickle along my skin underneath the black-and-gray leather attire. I raise my left arm to take the glove off and wring it out, at the same time still cautious to make abrupt movements with the right. Once I stir, Lieutenant Clark's voice, inundated with relief, reaches my ears and prompts me to action.

"Gaia, you are awake, Sir!" I sit up slowly, and at once the clamor of soldier's voices grows quiet, curious and anxious glances following my every movement in silence. The small islet is lit with scattered camp fires and a narrow crescent of the newborn moon, and in the scarce light I can spot numerous dark silhouettes. "I was worried you…"

"What time is it, lieutenant?"

"Twenty one hundred, Sir." Then it is six hours; impermissible delay.

"What happened after… after I had been shot?"

The dark-haired lieutenant rises to join me by the campfire that merrily burns by my side. In the shadow play caused by the flicker of flames, his face appears even more haggard and weary, drained of colors.

"We were ambushed, Sir. The Wutai waited for us in depths of the marsh, but they, thank Gaia, were not large in numbers. Those sneaky bastards." He spits into the fires and throws more dried reed on top. "We dealt with them quickly, lost around thirty men and were left with seven severely wounded. Since your portable terminal was damaged during the skirmish, we continued blindly and at dusk ended up here. The field surgeon, that short, light-haired kid, cleaned your wound, then I used a cure materia on it, but the hopes you would wake up so soon after such a heavy blood loss were very thin. I prepared myself for a long journey without a clue as to where we would be going." Only now do I grasp how serious our situation is – seven disabled soldiers, a wounded commander and four army units lost amidst the swamps without a guide or any other way to determine the location of Masumi's encampment. "It was a relief to see you recover so fast, Sir."

Does Lieutenant Clark honestly believe I have better answers? A panic thought flashes through my mind as I reach out for my mobile phone only to find the screen dead – it appears they were not made waterproof.

"The radio doesn't work either, Sir, we tried," Clark speaks with apologetic notes, "it seems that we lost all communication with the commanding center. I already explained the seriousness of the situation to the rest of the units, so that you won't have to worry over it."

And all of it had happened because I succumbed to a momentary emotion and saved a private's life without regard to what would happen to the rest of us. How could I and yet… how could I not?

"I appreciate your efforts, lieutenant, but now I would prefer to be left in solitude. I need to gather my thoughts."

"I understand, Sir, but wouldn't it be better if we…"

It has to be all the strain telling upon me when I finally snap, harsher than Clark deserved, colder than I usually allow myself. "When you have more constructive thoughts, I would be glad to hear you out."

With a wince I hid under the wonted façade of nonchalance, I rise to my feet and stroll towards the edge of the small island amidst the sea of dirt, yellow flowers, and succulent grass. Beyond it, the dark surface of swamp water, mottled with bushes of cane, is silvered with thin trails of moonlight and rippled with small waves. Watching it above folded arms restores some of my calm, clears thoughts even though all this time I am feeling soldiers' gazes set against my back. I don't turn to reprimand any of them although the sensation is an even more irksome distraction than the squelching of water in my boots.

Somehow I need to lead my units out of the swamps, to try to identify the direction by the sun instead of finding our bearings on the ground; however, it will not solve another problem of ours. Having lost communication with both Lazard and Masumi, we cannot request help for the wounded or report about the delay.

The faint breeze carries the acrid smell of the marsh – of putrid plants and stagnant water – interwoven with sounds of nightlife and muffled noises from the temporary encampment. We have seven severely wounded soldiers, the thought keeps returning with poignant obstinacy, lives that I am held responsible for and the very same lives that would not be endangered had I sacrificed just one soldier. It seems so simple, so rational; perhaps, I wasn't thinking clearly at that time to grasp the necessity of such actions.

Like a quiescent statue, I stand, peering through darkness until a voice hails me from behind, Clark's voice.

"A year ago I was sent to the Wutai border," he begins, "it was my very first time when I battled the enemy. My friend died in that skirmish. Tell me, Sir, have you ever held the head of a dying friend on your lap? Have you ever looked into the pain-filled eyes and, knowing he has about as much life as a bee that lost its sting, forced yourself to tell him that everything would be fine? I know what it means to deal with losses and only wish to help." I am silent. "Sir?"

"No. I haven't. I don't have any friends among them," I gesture in the general direction of the encampment, "so that I don't have to."

Lieutenant Clark still stands behind me, and I cannot see his face.

"But…"

"The current state of warfare is not to our advantage, lieutenant. I believe you were informed that Masumi is retreating under the pressure of superior numbers." I lower my gaze, focusing on the quivering trail of moonlight. "Who do you think Shin-Ra will send to the front lines?"

He flounders for a moment. "If we stand strong and with enough perseverance, it doesn't matter who they send against us, Sir."

I ponder over the pride and conviction in his voice. I felt some of it years ago, but now, abiding by the infallible logic, cannot share his faith completely. Hiding another wince, I suddenly wonder why I am even bothering to explain anything, for it is in my best interests to keep my soldier's morale high. What the truth is will not matter in the end, notably if Shin-Ra has its victory and Lieutenant Clark returns home alive.

"I suggest you start looking for means to restore communication." The wound makes itself felt, like a prick under my skin that turns into spreading pool of dull pain, pulsating in my shoulder. "And get some rest."

I give out orders naturally, as though born with this ability, and expect rigorous accuracy in execution, rarely forgiving any frivolities. When I was a child, Hojo used to punish my disobedience harshly until I learned the importance of discipline, which leads to coordination of all actions and therefore – to victory.

Lieutenant Clark retreats into the darkness, and when his tread fades in quiescence, I follow his steps on the creased grass, subconsciously repeating the pattern. Chill starts creeping up through the lapels of my coat, clinging to the wet skin, and I absent-mindedly wrap my arms around my shoulders, a gesture so childishly defensive I drop them the moment I become aware of it. Although just seventeen, I am leading an army through the swamps and I have already made enough mistakes to allow myself even a sign of uncertainty.

I find an unremarkable place to rest, but barely have enough time to stretch on the mossy hump – I am not picky about surroundings – when a young soldier comes running to me with his blue helmet clutched between his hands in forgetfulness.

"S-sir," pale lips trembling, he stammers as my eyes fall on his face, "please, you have to help us… there are…"

He is panting for breath, and words are thus hard to discern, only his fear is so evident that I easily realize – something has happened. A moment later, I am on my feet, ready to fight despite being recently wounded and despite feeling acute stabs of pain.

"And who would you be?"

"Private… Martins, Sir."

"Explain yourself, private."

He gets a hold of his emotions and utters more coherently, even if quieter. "We are under attack by a swamp monster."

A burst of gunfire followed by muffled screams alerts the nearby soldiers; rifles in their hands, they jump up and without anyone's orders dash through the thick reed towards the sounds of turmoil. Lieutenant Clark is with them as well, and it isn't difficult for both of us to overtake him. Exchanging curt remarks in haste, we are among the first to arrive upon the scene.

It is one of the furthest corners of the islet we took shelter on, and now it presents a contrast to the quiet night I stood observing just a few minutes back. A short-legged, porcupine-looking creature with yellow eyes glowing in semi-darkness stands among the scattered bodies sideways, its snout facing three shooting infantrymen. Apparently, the monster's armor is too thick for the bullets to penetrate, and they rebound with strident sounds, strewing bluish sparks around.

"Aim for its snout or chest!" Lieutenant Clark shouts, then turns to me with his palm opened, forestalling my intentions to engage into the fight. "Let us take care of the beast, Sir, you have been through enough already…"

The monster jumps and before our eyes tears one of the helmeted soldiers in half with a swift sweep of its clawed paw, knocking the other off his feet with its long tail. Somehow, the knowledge about this beast is outside my ken, thus I do not know of its weaknesses and am compelled to act impromptu. Lieutenant Clark's attempts notwithstanding, I unsheathe Masamune and, watching silver sparks of moonlight run along its length, bring my foremost blow down upon its back. My foremost, I say, for it requires an intricate combination of speed and power, when, both combined, produce an effect of unstoppable lightning.

To my surprise, all I managed is a thin cut across the monster's back, shedding a few green droplets of blood as, turning and bellowing, the swamp beast swings its clawed paw at me. The Wutai fauna contrived to surprise me with inhabitants even my lifetime of training seems useless against. I feel unexpected and untimely excitement rising, increasing heartbeat being the sign of it, when I accept the challenge. Clark shoots at the enraged monster's snout, misses and barely dodges the flickering tail whizzing through the air. It curls around the soldier's wrist, forcing him to release the gun with a painful moan, then dashes towards my blade. I anticipate the monster's move, Masamune firmly clutched between my hands with the sharp edge of the blade facing the enemy. This time it cuts through the thin intertwinement of muscles, leaving one part flying through the air and another one bleeding, wiggling as the tail of a laboratory dog. The monster lets out a mournful, almost _human,_ cry and attempts to escape into the safety of the night, yet I am no longer willing to let it go. It is akin to thirst now, the want, the need to see my enemy defeated, broken, dead – anything but roaming around freely after it challenged me.

A spurt through the air, upwards and then athwart to bar the beast's way, is all it takes me to stop its flight. Small and agile, it tries to skirt me, yellow eyes fixed on my face with almost intelligent – question, request, or curiosity in them, I cannot say for sure, but the expression betrays the presence of some mind underneath. A female, my guess is. Masamune follows my thoughts, meets a paw, having stuck between sharp, curved claws, and we freeze face to face, unable to tilt the balance to anybody's advantage. Someone fires a rifle at the beast – they could be firing at a granite wall equally well – however, it prompts me to add more pressure with both hands and, feeling muscles rend under the leather of my coat, I finally break the monster's resistance. Lodged deeply in its neck, Masamune twirls in my palms, now with hardly any effort, and the spurt of the greenish blood from the severed head crowns the night struggle.

Suddenly I feel oddly exhausted. A moment ago I saw fading yellow eyes, then they disappeared in utter darkness, and I have to sink onto the ground, dropping Masamune near the mossy tussock. Pain pierces my shoulder, forces its way through previous excitement, and the world blurs, losing clearness. With an unchanged expression, I slip my hand underneath the uniform, wipe the blood off my shoulder, and lower it into the dark pool of water, cold even through leather, to wash the scarlet stain off.

"Sir, are you hurt?" The field surgeon leans over me, genuine concern flitting across his face and evident in his voice. I flinch, but not from pain, but rather at the proximity of the unfamiliar person, for unfamiliar means danger. Instinctively, I draw away, fighting dizziness and unpleasant sensations the thought of him touching me now, in my weakness, brings.

"No, I am fine."

"But… you are bleeding…"

I blindly rummage the slots on my shoulder until I recognize a master Cure materia by sensation that is different from a lightning or fire materia I am carrying with me all the time.

"Go and tend to the wounds of others, who require your help more than I do."

"But I was ordered to heal the commanding officers first, and then…"

The soft light dissipates through my gloved fingers, immediately alleviating the pain and clearing the haze in my mind.

"I am already feeling much better." Suppressing a groan, I interrupt the eager youth and turn to look around. Behind the hulk of the slain monster, I notice five dead bodies and a few wounded soldiers, one of which is private Martins who reported the incident to me. Fires have been lit, and the field surgeon is already hurrying to help those who can still be helped.

I don't understand what impelled me to rise and come up to the wounded private, but soon I am standing by his side, peering into his ashen face while the field surgeon is trying to stop the profuse bleeding in his arm, torn off by the monster's claws. I see tears streaming down his cheeks, because they are faintly glistening in the red glow of embers from someone's fire.

"Is it bad?" He asks no one in particular, stubbornly keeping his eyes away from both the wound and everyone's gazes. I open my mouth for a straightforward reply, but somehow the words do not pass my lips, seeming inappropriate (before I met my friends I did not understand how one can be inappropriate). I keep silent, for words or gestures of comfort are hard for me to find, more so when I see no reason to offer the said comfort – after all, it will not return the private's arm.

The field surgeon consoles him instead, giving a shot of morphine, the most wide-spread painkiller on the field. Then Martins relaxes with an unusually vacant smile, having whispered with a sob. "Mommy… I want to see my mommy…"

His words affect me strangely, and for a whole, long moment I am wondering whether, dying, I will be thinking of a woman who gave birth to me like I was thinking of her years back. Then I speak to the pale surgeon who begins cleaning his instruments with shaky hands.

"Will he live?"

"I don't know, Sir. If we don't get to Masumi's camp by tomorrow evening, there is little chance he will."

* * *

The morning greets us with the thick, dirty-gray clouds hanging low over us, wherethrough sun rays seep like rare droplets of water in a clepsydra. Hojo used a broken clepsydra for my training when I was five and had just received my first sword (then, being inept, I cut myself on the sharp blade). With my enhanced hearing I had to discern the sound of a water droplet when it was about to leave the outlet and use my reflexes to avoid it landing on the blade.

We set out early and, having left the dead behind, quickly get deeper into the swamps, orientating ourselves by the sun as much as it is possible. The white clouds of fog, which float above the stagnant water, curl around our legs as we pass and uncurl behind, undisturbed as before. Each subsequent mile in the marshes is identical to the one before, and all we can rely on is my innate sense of direction. The gnawing despair returns, tangibly weighing down upon my shoulders, even if outwardly none of the tumult shows. My steps are brisk and elastic, my orders – calm and terse as always, and even my posture reflects no traces of hesitation, yet inside I am confused and full of doubts. Soldiers trust me and expect me to know the way out, but I feel like a lost seventeen-year-old child, who had failed to achieve the objective, and blindly snatch at nugatory opportunities to rectify the error. I don't even wish to linger on a thought of how Lazard or Masumi will react to my unscheduled absence.

Remembering Genesis or Angeal doesn't help much either.

The only time I failed a mission before was in Junon roughly three years ago, and the reminiscent, even now, brings nothing but unpleasant emotions. It wasn't the punishment – punishments were frequent in my early childhood – but a sensation of being worthless and incapable, a failure, which is more so bitter for a person like me, who had nothing and no one to rely upon besides the extraordinary abilities.

It starts raining at noon. At first, it sprinkles, yet soon the rare heavy droplets join into the thwart streams of cold downpour, and the surroundings fade into mist. Now we have to walk slowly and blindly, without any sense of direction, relying on nothing but luck. The mire impedes every movement, and too soon for my liking, soldiers begin falling back, reminding me that no matter how hard I wish to push all of us, they are not like me. They cannot walk two days in succession without halts or food, or the needed for a human body sleep, but those thoughts stir deep dislike and vexation. If all of them were SOLDIERs… Absently, I brush a wet silver lock off my cheek and divert my attention to rain droplets that spatter the calm surface of the marsh, finding the monotonous rustle of water strangely soothing.

As hours go by, the scenery does not change, still remaining the same glassy water surface dotted with rich vegetation and the occasional mossy tussocks, floating like dead monsters with their bellies turned upwards. The deeper we get into the swamps, the rarer the trees appear, more wilted and weak as the marsh seems to drain them of all life. I leaned on one of them to shake rainwater out of my boot, and the hollow inside branch immediately cracked, leaving dust of rotten wood on my palm.

The incessant rain turns our first halt into a nightmare. The provisions are soaked in water, the small islet of peat provides little shelter from the inclement weather, and the wounded are those who suffer the most. Cursing, the soldiers attempt to light at least a small fire, but the damp reed only sputters, emitting thick, greenish-gray smoke. A fire materia would help, but our supply is limited for use strictly in battles and, besides, the rain will extinguish the flames all too soon. Because of the clouds, it darkens early and with such low visibility I am compelled to admit that we will not be moving anywhere today unless we wish to get completely lost. That is, if we aren't already.

The thought sends chills down my spine that have nothing to do with cold streamlets gathered behind the upturned collar of my coat. Having dropped my head onto my palms, I rest my elbows against my knees and helplessly watch droplets of water meander along the strands of silver hair and fall into the puddle under my feet. Forgotten, Masamune is still strapped to my back and it cuts sharply into my shoulder blades, yet I pay the pain no heed.

"You don't have to blame yourself, Sir."

I straighten with a toss of my head, giving my lieutenant a cold once-over. Lieutenant Clark looks exhausted, and his face, framed with plastered dark hair, only accentuates the impression. For the first time I notice the color of his eyes, steel-gray, like Angeal's.

On the way through the swamps, though uneventful, we didn't exchange more than a few remarks about urgent measures, like clearing our way or choosing directions.

"I will survive," I return flatly, resuming pointless observation of my own barely visible reflection.

Clark seats himself nearby and rummages through his sack, producing a bottle he takes a sip from before turning to me again.

"Y'know, I thought how hard it has to be for you. Hell, when I was seventeen, I never thought of leading anyone into battle, and even less of being shot in the back and lost in the marshes. But you have to know this… ever since you almost single-handedly captured Fort Tamblin, my men started trusting in you. I still remember how you took out those snipers," Clark shakes his head with a wry smile, "with a few precise jumps and strikes, and you made it seemed so damn effortless. None of us has ever seen a SOLDIER in action before, all we knew were rumors about a new elite unit in the Shin-Ra army. Then they tell me I will be under the command of a seventeen-year-old lad, after all those years of my service. I thought those damn Shin-Ra higher-ups were crazy, no offense to you, Sir, and I still think they are. Crazy… at times, I think we are all crazy, sitting here in the rain, waiting to be ambushed and…" he takes another gulp from the bottle, having decided against finishing the sentence. "But I have to say, Sir… your tenacity is nothing short of admirable."

What is one supposed to answer to these words, notably sitting in the pouring rain and waiting for approaching night? I shiver with cold and shift my eyes to a despondent sight the encampment is in creeping shadows and mist.

"Did you check the wounded?"

"I did, Sir, and two of them died. Private Martins and a few others, wounded by the swamp monster, are delirious. I don't think they will last long."

"What about the radio?"

"It is damaged, Sir."

I think for a few moments, recollecting my dissipated thoughts. "Then this is what we will do. We will not move from here, waiting for the rain to stop and when it does, we will gather the reed and use a fire materia to light it and create a smoke pillar that might be spotted from Masumi's base. If help does not come for another twenty four hours, we will proceed further and repeat an attempt."

"I suppose it is as much as we can hope for at the moment."

With a heavy sigh, Clark scrambles into the dry coat he produces from the sack and turns to walk away. I need to check whether the sentries have been posted as well, so I force myself to move my numbing body.

"By the way, you never asked my full name, Sir." The lieutenant suddenly faces me anew. "It's Niel Clark."

I raise my eyes to meet his, feeling a sudden surge of inappropriate, albeit genuine surprise. "Humph, I studied your profile, and from there I know all I need. You were born in Kalm, entered the Shin-Ra army at the age of eighteen, and received your first promotion after having successfully defended Corel mines. Your mother still resides in Kalm, whereas your father, serving in Shin-Ra army at that time, died when you were eleven."

With my last words, as those before recited in a toneless voice, Lieutenant Clark flashes a bitter smirk at me, an expression so uncharacteristic of him. "You think that if you read my profile, you know everything. Am I right… Sir?"

I don't understand what he is getting at and therefore leave our discourse at that.

… It doesn't take me long to perform the routine inspection, and thereafter I find an unobtrusive place to rest. Having reclined against the rotten tree stump, I close my eyes, inhaling scent of dank bark and slowly plunging into the state of somnolence where the cold peat is as good a place to sleep as the wide bed with clean white sheets and Genesis, curled by my side. I still dwell on it from time to time, on the strangest of feelings that I rarely experience towards living beings that is called trust. Wishing the cold pool of water underneath my palm was Genesis' smooth skin and that the nagging pain in my shoulder would subside, I finally slip into the void of dreamless and placid slumber to the monotonous patter of rain droplets against water.

The monsters attack at night. This time there are four of the bigger ones, and they waited until the encampment grew still. The fog, the veil of drizzle, and the sentries being lax from fatigue let them get close enough to the defenseless soldiers without attracting notice.

I usually sleep lightly, alert to foreign noises, and this time it saves my life. The sound of something large bolting through the bushes of reed jolts me, and I leap up to my feet an instant before a swamp beast tramples the mossy stump I was reclining against into the peat bed. Having shaken off the remainder of sleepiness, I flex my numb fingers and resolutely wrap them around the hilt of Masamune. It falls in a glistening semi-circle, this time aimed directly at one of the weaknesses in the beasts' armor, and the head flies off to the side and into the deep puddle.

As though understanding that I am the main danger, the second monster pounces upon me, and for once my fatigued, wounded body fails to react on time. The tail, although thin, firmly twines around my left leg, and with an abrupt turn of its massive body, the monster hurls me to the side. For a moment the world blurs, then bursts in white as my shoulder hits against something hard on the impact. Swamp water fills my mouth and I cannot restrain a cough that shakes my whole body. Powerful instincts, perfected since the age of five, already intervene when my hand blindly gropes for the hilt of my sword, finds it, and, leaning on the long blade, I slowly scramble up. It pains me to breathe with curt flares following every heave, so I try to inhale as shallowly as I can in those short moments the monster searches for me. Having waited until the beast charged forward, I take a small step to the right followed by the turn of my wrist that sends Masamune in another arch parallel to the ground. The blade precisely cuts through both of its eyes, leaving it aimlessly and blindly charging forward with loud wails.

I let it go, for the screams – no less loud – that are wafted from the encampment indicate that there are more beasts. As quickly as I can, I run towards the commotion, arriving in time to aid my soldiers with the last monster. Under the guidance of Lieutenant Clark, they were able to shoot one of them and corner another. Seeing me, they quickly part without ceasing fire, but I decide not to rely on my battle skills or engage into a close fight, afraid that this time my broken body will fail me. Instead, I resolve to seeking the power within Masamune as once did at Fort Tamblin.

Like a tidal wave, it rises inside, constricts my throat, a sudden feeling of all-consuming power that is impossible to resist or hold inside. The swamps gain clearer contours, from the hulk of a monster to the last petal of yellow marsh marigold alight with ghostly glow – it takes me a moment to realize that Masamune now emits this pale-green light that swirls along its blade like the thinnest mist.

The beast shifts its yellow eyes from the group of soldiers to me, and at the moment of its confusion I thrust Masamune's needle-shaped tip into the quagmire. The environs flare up with colorless flames, their outlines distorted in a ghostly wave that sweeps over the marsh a few inches above the water, and when the crescent tears through its body, the beast tumbles down. The light disappears thereafter and darkness returns, yet its power is no longer needed, for the swamp monster shudders in agony, drowning in the deep pool. Its four legs have been cut off as with the sharpest razor.

Then, no longer paying any attention to where I am going, I drag myself to the nearest hummock and collapse on top.

* * *

I am slowly moving between small fires, looking at silent, morose soldiers. Some are cleaning their rifles, others are tending to the wounded or exchanging quiet remarks, but every time I approach, they tear themselves away from their undertakings to glance at me. My body, stiff and bruised after last night's final encounter, objects to every unnecessary movement, but I ignore the pain and push myself further, one step after another, until I reach the end of the peat islet. There I turn back, as if trapped, and before heading to the other end, gaze at the third pile of reed soldiers are gathering at my orders. Heavy flaps of my leather coat are soaked in water, and from time to time I pull them down, vexed even at such a small hindrance I would normally neglect.

It is not raining any longer, and tonight, after sunset, we will light the heaps and hope that someone from the main base will be able to see the signal. Another night like this in the Yellow Marshes, and my units will be so depleted that any help we could have provided to Masumi will be rendered useless. This particular thought makes me pivot on my heels and change direction of my aimless wandering once again.

Now clearer than before I understand that I failed.

Lieutenant Clark counted the casualties, which after the last fight exceeded a hundred soldiers, both dead and severely wounded. We carried the bodies a few hundred feet into the swamps and piled them there; private Martins - for some reasons I remembered him - was among them.

I look up at the clouded skies, wishing to see the sun so that I can count the hours and minutes until darkness, as if this perfectly monotonous pastime will render me thoughtless and emotionless. It used to be different before I met Angeal and Genesis, easier to keep my guard – not much, but still… different by a tad. I yearn to see my plan work, yet at the same time, dread the moment when I will have to face my superiors and answer for my errors.

Agitated, I twiddle the useless mobile phone in my fingers after another unsuccessful attempt to revive the black screen, then hastily hurl it aside, watching it land into the pool of dark water with a splash.

Genesis… the memory of my new lover comes reluctantly. A few more fights like yesterday, and my broken body will no longer be able to defend us no matter how far I push myself. Although healed by now, the wound in my right shoulder slows me down and abrupt jolts of pain crack my concentration in battles. I shouldn't be…

"Sir!" A voice calls me from behind before a private with his hand firmly pressed to the blue helmet halts in front of the stunted tree I am leaning against. "We piled up three heaps of rush just as you had ordered us."

I shoot another impatient glance towards the skies and briskly walk towards the man-made piles with the private not far behind. I decide it is dark enough to set at least one of them on fire.

"Stand back," I gesture for the rest of the soldiers and reach out for the fire materia – there is no other way the dank rush would burn. For a moment I close my eyes and concentrate on the orb in my fingers, feeling warmth even through leather. The power of the Planet channeled through the small piece of crystallized mako awakens once I mentally reach out for it and the whole pile – from the bottom to the top that is about seven feet from the ground – blazes up instantly at my command. It does not matter how wet the reed is, the flames engulf it as if it were dry twigs. Materia would have set human or monster's flesh on fire equally effortlessly, such was its power. Thick smoke soars upwards in a dark spiral, contrasting with the fading daylight and therefore clearly visible from a distance, so if there is someone watching the skies now, they should be seeing the trail. I can only hope that it will alert Masumi and he will send at least a reconnaissance helicopter.

The cane burns efficiently, soon turning into a thin pillar burnt-out from within. Gray and weightless flakes of ash are falling around me, some sparked with crimson on the edges, and when one lands onto my shoulder I mechanically brush it off. Little by little the fires attract soldiers, who gather just outside the invisible circle, beyond which the heat is unbearable. Some bring their soaked gear and place it closely to the scorching flames.

"Do you think it is going to work?" I hear one of the soldiers address another as he throws his backpack into the middle of the formed circle.

"I don't know, I just hope that SOLDIER knows what he is doing. I don't have a lot of faith in those folks with glowing eyes. He is good, very good, but who knows… not my business, but I prefer our lieutenant to any of those strange guys like him or the one with the broad sword back at the camp."

I pretend I haven't heard a whit of their conversation and return to the contemplation of the sight in front of me. The skies are clouded with smoke, yet there is no sign of a helicopter, so, having shielded my eyes with my elbow, I approach the roaring wall of flames and intrepidly swing my sword. Magic flames fly asunder, landing on two other heaps and igniting them. It is now dark enough to see both crimson pillars and their quivering reflections in the mirror of stagnant water.

...At first, I take it as another insignificant commotion, but as my ears discern the words, my heart misses a beat and then quickens its pace. I admit I was close to losing hope my venture would be crowned with success.

Heartened, the soldiers scream and wave their hands. "There is a helicopter! The helicopter is coming!"

I brusquely toss my head, and indeed notice winking lights and a dark hulk of a huge aircraft hovering above even through smoke. An instant later a few men in Shin-Ra military uniform jump out of the helicopter, and among them I recognize a young Second Class I saw in the training rooms the other day. The swamp flares up with bright neon of pocket flashlights, and the SOLDIER approaches Clark, whom he notices first. "Where is Sephiroth, lieutenant?"

Stepping out of the shadows, I cannot restrain a sigh of deep relief. "Are you from Masumi's base?"

"Second Class Maory, Sir," the youth introduces himself properly despite the circumstances and the urgency. "I am here on specific orders from General Masumi, but we didn't expect to find you and your units, Sir. What happened?"

"I will explain later. We need to get the reinforcements to the main base as exigently as possible. How far are we?"

"Ten miles to the north, Sir."

I nod, calculating. "Since you won't be able to land in the swamps, give Lieutenant Clark a portable terminal with directions… no, give him two. He will get to the base on foot, while you will take me directly to Masumi."

"We will be there in two hours." Clark assures as he accepts the device and then rushes off to carry out my orders.

"And avoid fighting the monsters!" I shout after him, knowing that I can trust my lieutenant to be as cautious as one can be in this situation.

Thereupon, I and the young Second Class board the helicopter the pilot brought down as low as possible without damaging the aircraft.

"We found you just in time," Maory shakes his head and gestures for the pilot to take off. In turn, he revs up the engine, and the helicopter slowly ascends into the darkening skies. "Today we suffered another defeat and were forced to abandon all positions but the main base. If we didn't stumble upon you, miraculously so, we wouldn't have held for more than a day."

Feeling strangely calm and yet enervated, I recline against the metal wall and inhale deeply, finally letting myself relax completely for the first time in almost three days. What was expected to be just an ordinary mission turned out to be perilous and pregnant with grim consequences, for while it might seem that the ordeal is over, for me it is but a beginning. What awaits me at the base and – more importantly – how are we going to deal with the consequences of my delay?

"Report to Masumi that he is to expect my units in two hours," I reply to Maory's words and shift my gaze to watch the islet, which nearly became our grave, disappear.

Underneath us, the crimson flames look like liquid, spilled over the dark water spots.


	14. Chapter XIII

_**A/N:**_ SephyRocks… I am glad you are still enjoying the story. :D

Beta'ed by my dear AlexJ69 (she is so patient with me :P).

* * *

_Chapter XIII._

The room I enter is small and insipidly barren. Two chairs stand by the large desk heaped up with maps and papers, and a television screen flashes blue and yellow from the furthest corner. Other than that, no details attract my attention as I swiftly cross the empty space that separates the threshold from the desk. I was told Masumi had been preparing troops for the enemy invasion and therefore was delayed; I was told to wait here and I obeyed without further inquiries, which were necessary at that moment.

Having found a nondescript spot on the wall, I lean against it, arms crossed over my chest, and try to collect my thoughts.

The chaos I saw once the helicopter landed, stunned me – men running every which way, wailing wounded being carried on wooden stretchers, and all of it drowning in the abundance of sharp, white light spilled in the air. For a whole long minute while the helicopter was rising, I stood motionless, feeling as though all I learned during my training was useless here. Most of my skills were employed in one-on-one combats until they became nearly routines, performed without much thought, but in the mayhem of war there appeared to be no place for ordinary decisions.

Suddenly, the television attracts my attention as the voice pronounces therefrom, "And now the latest news from the battlefield in Wutai."

The screen color changes, and a reporter's face appears against the background of the Shin-Ra logo. Involuntarily, I hearken to the words being spoken and even straighten to get a better view of the bearded speaker.

"As of now, the news of the Shin-Ra army advances has been officially released. After a small setback and insignificant casualties, General Masumi was able to regain the lost positions and launch a counterattack…"

I feel a frown crease my forehead, because I fail to see how our present condition correspond to the optimistic speech of the reporter. Stifling my disapproval, I watch Masumi enter and dismiss another faceless private in a blue helmet.

"Sephiroth," he spares me a weary glance and walks up to the table whereat heavily sinks into his chair. I notice he is limping on his right leg and does not hide the signs of fatigue in my presence. Heaving pushed the barren wall away, I greet him befittingly to his new title – during the course of war he attained a higher rank than me, now being the general for the Shin-Ra army. "What happened?"

This is the question I feared. Restraining myself from expressing the previously felt confusion, I tersely retell our hapless accident in the swamps, starting from the moment I was shot. Masumi listens without interrupting until I finish with the last details about the rescue helicopter finding us amidst the peat marsh, and without me noticing, my fingers curl into a fist hidden in the flaps of my long leather coat. Every word of admitting failure is nothing short of agony, even if I understand the necessity of reporting my misadventures.

When I conclude my account of events, the blond SOLDIER shakes his head. "Lazard and I chose your route so that you wouldn't meet any Wutai. Why were you ambushed? I don't understand."

"Have you thought about a possibility…"

"… of an internal leak? We have. Lazard claims he is hot on the trail, but if he is right… we might need to purge our ranks. It is difficult to say who else was involved with the Vice President if it is indeed the doing of the Vice President. I can't believe that kid was smart enough to pull off something like that." For a moment, Masumi fingers grow still on the table, then resume their uneven rhythm, betraying his nervousness. "In the meantime, we have a lot to do, Sephiroth. We are being pressured. The President demands a victory, and at this point… I just don't see how we can have one."

"What is wrong?"

I avert my face to study the faded blue wall, gaze following a deep dark crack from the ceiling to the mid-section, perhaps, caused by the impact of a shell.

"The Wutai came here to die while we only wanted a victory. They were merciless – towards themselves as well – while we hesitated and counted the numbers of casualties. There is a certain difference between us, don't you think?" To the sound of him laughing, I turn in time to sight a wry, unattractive smirk distorting his face. "I will be honest with you, Sephiroth. I am no match for Maetsuki, and, maybe, they called you here, expecting that after Aichi and Fort Tamblin, you will do what I cannot… But this talk can wait. I am sure you need rest, and I can give you three hours."

A moment later I find myself by the threshold oblivious of how my legs had carried me there. My gloved fingers settle on the doorway, clutch the wooden frame with such force that its sharp edges painfully cut into my hand.

"And what do they expect of me?"

There is a short pause, and then…

"A miracle."

…Masumi's words keep ringing in my ears as I am walking through the night as staidly as I can, trying to find my way in the maze of houses and among large groups of people. Everything befell me so fast during the last couple of days, and now, after having barely escaped a grim lot in the marshes, I am suddenly expected to perform a marvel. I wish I knew how I am to succeed in that undertaking. The last thought does not lack a tad of bitter sarcasm.

The night is remarkable for its chill, unusual for the early summer in Midgar, and it easily crawls underneath the dirty leather of my coat. Keeping my long hair from being tangled in keen gusts of wind, I walk past the wounded sprawled on the ground, past wizened from fire bushes and trees, noticing the minuscule details even in darkness. Scientists say it is because of mako in my blood, but sometimes - like in Aichi - I wish my perfect sight would fail me and I would be spared from thinking that this disaster had happened due to my errors.

Second Class Maory briefly retells Masumi's orders and runs off into darkness; besides him, I know no one else from the military personnel stationed with the General at this village. Without further hindrance, I find the house I will be resting at.

Outwardly, the building is noticeably damaged by shells - one wall tumbled down and the porch is strewn with debris. Stripped of the wonted decorations, the insides no longer bear signs of an inhabited dwelling, and most of the furniture crams one room while the others are left empty. Thick boards are torn out of the floor and used to barricade the door to the bedroom where two vacant beds stand by the window. I choose the closest one to the wall so that if we are attacked by the enemy while I am sleeping, the escape route will not be far. Having pulled the boots off and slipped out of the leather trench coat, I place Masamune by my bed and repose myself on the plain spring mattress.

After the incident in the Yellow Marshes, I had to accept one frightening realization - even if I push myself to the limits, it might not be enough to win. And if my abilities are not enough, then what is?

There is only one way to find out.

The thought is sudden, and at first I rationally dismiss it as utter madness, yet it obstinately keeps coming back, refusing to vanish despite efforts to regain my poise.

What if I go alone?

I run my fingers through long tresses and leave them entangled, silver shimmering on black leather that clings tightly to my knuckles when I clench my fist. Immediately, pain echoes through my shoulder, reminding me of the unfortunate night in the swamps and that I really should not be thinking of…

Still, the notion that I can fight the Wutai without any help lingers. I can sneak into the enemy's camp and, having caught them unawares, wreak enough havoc and destruction to disable them from attacking us again. Like at Fort Tamblin, I can face the First Lance and defeat him once and for all.

I grope for my boots, yet sink back before my hand finds them, stricken by another thought, which did not occur to me before. I was given orders I cannot disobey, because I am on the battlefield and my insubordination will inevitably make our situation even worse. Or, perhaps, better?

Why would it matter when I have never disobeyed a direct order?

Torn by conflicting emotions, I attempt to find rest, even if it is short and uneasy and will not refresh me as much as I desire.

I wake up from the sound of shrewd knocks and shuffling of feet outside the door. My first move is to ready Masamune, but I let go of the long hilt when the familiar voice of my lieutenant rings from the hallway, "Sir, it's Lieutenant Clark. The General has just called a military council."

"Give me a moment."

It does not take longer than that to lace my boots and throw the still sodden trench coat over my shoulders; sheathing Masamune and clasping one buckle on the go, I am listening to Clark's brief retelling of the events that occurred after I had left my units at the marsh. They were fortunate not to engage in more fights and reached Masumi's encampment without additional casualties.

"We drained the supply of bullets, but at least the arsenal here is not as depleted. Shin-Ra is generous," the Lieutenant continues, "when it comes to damn steel and firepower. Not so generous with the personnel. Did you know the President had sent only a fourth of our army to Wutai? But they'll need a lot more than that if they want a victory."

It is now pitch dark, and the encampment is plunged into slumber and silence, which is occasionally broken by sounds wafted from the swamps – the screeching of a bird or howling of a monster. When we enter Masumi's headquarters, the General is already there, or he simply never left the room, having spent those hours perusing papers and studying maps. A large one depicting the village, its defenses and outskirts, lies unrolled in the middle of the maculated table, its edges held down by empty coffee cups. The blond SOLDIER's face is gloomy and darkens even more each time his glance falls onto that map as if there he sees a disturbing picture I failed to observe. His adjutant, Second Class Maory, stands behind his chair at attention with expressionless face, changing his stiff pose only to raise his hand for a salute.

"Sephiroth, Lieutenant Clark, I am glad you were finally able to get here, and although I am certain our superiors expect to receive a detailed report, we have a lot of work to do." Masumi rises and gestures to the maps. I notice that the last cup of coffee is half-empty, and a few droplets of its black contents are spilled with an uncouth movement of the General's hand.

"Where is the enemy?" Inquires Lieutenant Clark.

"Everywhere and nowhere," Masumi picks up a pencil and outlines a vague circle somewhere to the north-east of the village, on the opposite side of the border with the Yellow Marsh. "We know their encampment is about three and a half miles from Ohira - that's the name of this settlement, but they can come from all sides. Their leader, the First Lance, is using the terrain to their advantage as well - every tree in the forest, every suspicious looking pit can be a trap. Yesterday we lost positions in the nearby village of Oita and were forced to retreat back to the main base."

"What kind of defense fortifications and weapons do we have at our disposal?"

"Three small mako canons and five mortars; the Wutai destroyed the rest. We were able to dig trenches around the perimeter and fortify the fence - here and here." The blond SOLDIER points to the bold lines on the map. "Other than that, I am afraid, we do not have much against those bastards."

"What are the Wutai equipped with?" I thoughtfully ask, moving closer to get a better look at the map of Ohira.

"The usual gun-lances, a little bit of the heavy stuff, but they have zeal and monsters."

"Like those I encountered at Fort Tamblin?"

Masumi nods. "Their armor was improved after you took both of them down. Shin-Ra scientists and engineers of the Weapon Department claim they have been researching means to create mechanized weapons against those monsters, but no luck so far. They tell me I will have to buy them time… but it's surely easy to say when they are sitting in comfortable labs and I am putting my men in the line of fire."

Short silence ensues, which I use to scrutinize the drawing and memorize the little details I was always good at remembering - the disposition of canons, the water tower that could be used to position a sniper, and finally the layout of narrow streets whereat a single SOLDIER could be holding back a tenfold detachment of the Wutai infantry. The latter may come useful in case we will be forced to relinquish this village as well.

"So where would you want to station my units?" Clark attempts to suppress a yawn, and his last words come out muffled. Masumi places the sharp tip of his pencil near one of the gaps in the fence, thinking for an instant, then straightens.

"I can use additional men defending the least fortified spots where the danger of being overwhelmed by the Wutai is the greatest. We will wait for them and give battle on familiar grounds."

"Or anticipate their move instead," my suggestion earns suspicious looks from both commanders, and I decide to explain myself. "Rather than waiting for the Wutai assault, we might deliver a preventive blow. If I lead a small group into the forest…"

"You have just been wounded, Sir," Clark objects at once, "and you are in no state to battle the enemy almost by yourself."

I feel my eyes narrow into slits, preceding the wave of that same perplexity at the mere innuendo that I am incapable of doing something, because I am. I have to be. Then cold anger rises and ousts confusion, when I realize that they are treating me like a child; a child who is supposed to accomplish a miracle.

"I am aware of that." I retort dryly, still seething inside, and turn around not to let my slipping emotions be seen. "However…"

"We cannot allow ourselves to leave the camp, because in our situation every life counts. You will do us no good, charging at the enemy's lines and perishing."

"I did not say…"

"No, Sephiroth," Masumi is on the verge of losing his temper, eyes ablaze and lips tightly pressed together. "I admit I underestimated the Wutai once, at Aichi, and I will not let you do it again. Miracles will be useless if we are crushed tomorrow."

For a moment I think my desire to prove my worth will win, but instead I take a step back and straighten as I used to in the presence of my instructors before I became a First Class. I know better than being personal on the battlefield, and if obedience is all Masumi requires, then so be it.

"Of course, General. May I go?"

"You may." Masumi extends a mobile phone. "But call Lazard before you rest."

I clench a small device in my hand and leave the room with the faintest smirk hidden in the corners of my lips.

I welcome the chill outside, suddenly realizing I am more affected by the argument than I thought I was. Leaning against the wall with my shoulder, I dial the all-too-familiar number and wait until a sleepy voice mumbles into the phone.

"Lazard speaking. What do you want in this hour, Masumi?" With slight irritation I picture our Director, flushed with sleep, scrambling out the comfortable bed and groping for his slippers or the lamp switch.

"This is Sephiroth."

"Sephiroth," there is a sigh of relief on the other end, "Thank Gaia! What happened?"

"We were ambushed and lost all communication, including the portable terminals, and…" I lapse into silence.

"Are you not telling me something?"

"It will be in the reports. I was shot from a small-caliber sniper rifle - a perforating wound through the shoulder, healed with the standard means available on the field."

"Is the rest of your unit operational?"

"Yes."

"Then your mission is to follow Masumi's orders until the situation clears up."

"Understood." I reply tersely and hang up.

A strong gust of wind steals up from behind, effortlessly whirls the long and heavy flaps of my coat, raises a cloud of ashen dust visible in the neon light of the street lamp and finally abates, leaving one leaf circling its way through the air. I watch it land on my palm, half-green, half-black, scorched by raging fires.

Suddenly I feel like I am not more important than that lone charred leaf.

* * *

A glass of crystal clear water. A large map identical to the one in Masumi's room. A pencil. I survey the nondescript objects in front of me with dull disinterest, then shift my eyes towards the window. Outside, thick, gray clouds slowly drift across the sky, reminding me of the long smoke tails hanging over Midgar most of the days I spent in labs. Trained to discipline myself, I usually don't find the waiting unbearable, but today my patience thins with every hour, and soon I wish the Wutai would attack.

My gaze slides back to the table and unsheathed Masamune I left in the corner, slowly following every graceful curve of unknown alloy – lighter and more durable than any steel – from handle to the tip, and yet again I wonder what power these seemingly frail forms conceal. What I have sensed so far - and I believe it to be just the surface – is astonishing, beguiling me to search for more, deeper.

Second Class Maory paid me a visit an hour ago, bringing last orders, which I perused and put aside. They are vague – to stay away from the general battle and engage only when the enemy breaches our defenses. I decide to comply – not that I truly have a choice – even if by staying away from the battle I will hardly achieve significant progress Shin-Ra authorities expect of me.

My contemplation is interrupted by the rumbling of an explosion, which sends ripples through the ground followed by swells of dirt and stones rising up to the knees of an adult. The glass falls onto the floor, shattering into smithereens, and clouds of whitewash crumble, flakes of dust filling the air, clinging to my lips. Coughing, I snatch the hilt of my sword and run out into the street, the ceiling collapsing instants later, having buried the room underneath a heap of debris.

Masumi must have been wrong, assuming that the Wutai had no canons.

A pile of useless rubble, which moments ago was a house, towers above the street, now turned into a smooth swath of mellow ground and rent vegetation. I hastily look around, noticing groups of soldiers in the Shin-Ra army uniform rushing towards the fence. Somewhere ahead of me, concealed in puffs of acrid smoke, Lieutenant Clark shouts, "Assume your positions!" Sporadic gun fire tears through my ears, then our mako canons return to life, firing at something invisible with heavy rhythmic thump marking each shot.

So this is the anticipated strike, I think with untimely satisfaction.

I descend the intact stairs and in quick, albeit measured, strides head in the general direction of the gates or at least where I remember them to be. A turn, then another one, and I find myself in the misleading labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys clutched between abandoned houses, their doors gaping and windows lifeless. Underneath my feet the ground is dry as if nibbled bare by flames. As I near the gates, the sounds of battle become clearer – shouts, desperate wails, and, drowning them all, strident gunfire.

The view of the gates appears abruptly, and at once I understand that I was not wrong, having decided to join this battle. Neither Masumi nor Lieutenant Clark appear to be in sight, and the amount of force the Wutai brought against its defenders is impressive to say the least – a few hundred infantrymen aside, I can see two monsters and another hundred of riders on creatures that remind me of massive cats.

Shin-Ra soldiers are hiding behind the barricade and thick walls of what appears to have once been a smithy; the wounded – I have already counted three – are resting behind the shop of a grocer. Having leapt over a dead body sprawled in dust, I duck to get through the door and into a dusty room, wherefrom I can watch the battle until it nears the gates.

A mako canon and two mortars are incessantly firing from the roofs, and as I am watching, one bolide arches across the clouded skies and lands in the woods among the already burning trees. Tall trunks blaze up brightly, their touched-by-dryness crowns catching fire, and slowly tumble down, adding more mayhem to the already chaotic battlefield. For an instant, swarming sparks cover the whole glade between the forest and the gates, and when they disperse, I notice that one monster is mortally wounded.

There is nothing I can do now besides using materia. My fingers clench around the blue orb and after a brief mental withdrawal, lightning falls from the skies, scorching a black spot on the ground and turning three riders into ash.

In the meantime, despite the heavy fire, the other monster reaches the gates and with one sweep of its hammer tears down the frail structure, whereupon I understand that my time has come. With thumping heart, I leave the shelter, hilt of my faithful Masamune firmly gripped in my left hand, and halt on the straight road, which ends at the barricade – now being hastily abandoned by Shin-Ra soldiers – and the destroyed gates. The Wutai pour into the crack in the fence, some falling, mowed down by bursts of machine-gun fire, others escaping the grim lot and continuing their charge as if oblivious of their comrades' deaths. I begin walking towards the gap, each step measured and slightly faster than the previous one.

Uttering a roar, the monster brings its hammer down anew, effortlessly spattering dirt and bloodied, maimed bodies of those unlucky soldiers who did not abscond in time. I mend my pace, stifling my emotions.

"What are you doing, Sir?" Someone shouts after me.

I reply without breaking stride, "Keep firing!"

The hilt is suddenly hot in my hand, as if I am actually channeling my own power through the blade. Running, I leap up and, having pushed off the windowsill and then off a small protuberance on the wall, slowly land on the tiled roof. The monster immediately swings its massive weapon, having missed because I evaded the blow with ease, and smashes bricks under my feet. Somersaulting from the roof, I raise Masamune above my head and strike, combining speed of the intricate jump with the power of my sweep. Shrouded in bluish flames, the long blade cuts through the monster's head and chest, and when my feet touch the ground, its hulk collapses behind. In one swift movement I shake its dark-green blood off my long blade and turn to the rest of the Wutai.

There is a scream, "First Class SOLDIER! Regroup!" and the infantrymen part to give way to the riders on cat-like creatures – an adversary, whose appearance I could not have foreseen.

I dart to the house on the opposite side of the street and, having run along the wall, land behind the flitting riders, giving Masamune a full swing; cutting through flesh, the silver semi-circle turns carmine. Several headless riders continue to charge forward, while most – bereft of arms or wounded deeply – fall into the dust, attempting to crawl out of the fight. Bodies fall around me as I swing my sword from left to right, advancing through rows of rushing cat-like creatures, who lost their riders and with them – control. Blood sprinkles every which way, smirches my coat and lands on my lips, salty and warm, inhuman. I step on the dead, on cut off limbs, oblivious of where I am going, until the riders stop their blind charge and turn their cat-like beasts around. Someone fires the mako canon into the very midst of their formation, strewing more burning, screaming bodies and scattering the lucky survivors who did not turn into greasy ash.

Staggering, I get a better grip of Masamune and head towards the smithy where the remaining Shin-Ra troops established themselves firmly. In the heat of the battle, I did not notice I was scratched – once by claws, twice by a bullet.

I can feel the Wutai waver, ready to draw back, when the tables turn again, just as I feared. Having breached our defenses elsewhere, the rest of the enemy's infantry pounces upon our left flank, threatening to overrun our positions. I notice glimpses of blond hair in the thick of the battle and understand that Masumi is retreating under the pressure of someone more skilled.

Then I sight him.

Surrounded by the elite guard in steel-gray armor, he sits in state on the back of the largest cat-like creature I have seen so far. He advances slowly, leaving no one alive in his path, and even Masumi's personal detachment, which consists of five Second Class SOLDIERs and seven Thirds, cannot withhold him from moving forward. The uniform embroidered with the haughty red dragon betrays his title – Maetsuki, the First Lance, the leader of the special unit within the Wutai Army, said to _'…appease the wrath of the Leviathan and smite their enemies'_.

So we meet at last.

Having forgotten about the other enemies, I make my way towards the First Lance, seeking shelter behind walls and piles of charred debris until he is not further than forty feet away. For a moment I freeze with my back pressed to stones, appraising surroundings, then make a swift turn and thrust my bloodied sword into the chest of an elite guard. With a twirl of my wrist I pull Masamune out of the body in time to parry a swift blow dealt by the guard to my left.

"Sephiroth, retreat!" I involuntarily turn and meet Masumi's burning glare. "The battle is lost!"

No, I was expected to perform a miracle, was I not? Suddenly, I feel myself smiling, even though there are no reasons for me to smile, and drive my blade through the guard's stomach, its long bloodied tip appearing behind his back, his armor notwithstanding. Their formation breaks, obeying Maetsuki's order to continue pursuing the SOLIDERs, and I finally face him alone.

From away I could not notice that his black eyes were filled with rage. Now I do.

Calming uneven breath, I circle him to win some time, thinking of the best way to penetrate his defenses. Yellow, blazed up with mindless hatred eyes of his mount follow me closely, and if it wasn't for the tight grip of its master, the beast would have attacked me on sight.

Suddenly, to my genuine surprise, Maetsuki alights and throws the rein of his mount around the tree stump.

"Even if you are a Shin-Ra lapdog, I will not dishonor myself by fighting you mounted."

I incline my head as a sign I heard him although, if I were in his place, I would have used all available advantage. For a short, indistinguishable to a human being moment, we freeze in front of each other, the rest of the battle forgotten, and then I find myself surrounded by circles of flying steel.

Maestuki wields two swords and moves faster than I anticipated him to move in his armor, describing intricate loops with both of his blades. Where one begins and the other ends is hard even for me to discern, my training notwithstanding, and for the first time I have a sinking feeling I met an equal, if not a superior to me, adversary. Having dodged one flying blade, I parry the other and use Masamune's length to disengage from the close combat. With a twirl of my wrist sending it parallel to the ground, I break though both of Maetsuki's swords, the tip of my blade brushing against his armor. He takes a step back, trying to trap Masamune between his swords, but I push them apart without palpable effort.

It seems our duel will be a draw.

Steps light, we are circling each other, exchanging occasional blows; then, seeing that his previous tactics failed, the First Lance suddenly jumps aside and surrounds himself with layers of rustling steel, whirling the blades faster and faster until they seem to be alive, moving on their own, independent will. Not risking to break through this glistening cocoon, I wait until I can descry familiar patterns, and when for an instant his blades meet crosswise, raise Masamune above my head to bring it down with lightning speed.

The sheer power of an impact leaves another dent on disfigured ground, strewing ashen dust around, and when I add a tad more pressure to Maetsuki's blades, still trapped decussated underneath Masamune, he finally staggers.

After that, our duel ends in a whit of a second.

Perhaps, my fatigued body fails me, but I think I indeed met an equal, for the First Lance unexpectedly frees one of his blades and, keeping Masamune clutched with the other, thrusts it into my unprotected chest. I partially manage to dodge it, and instead of piercing it, my enemy's swords slides across, yet the wound is nonetheless deep. The pain is overwhelming, and his next blows I parry with much ado, saving my strength and breath for defense only, feeling blood streaming down my torso.

Inside, I am still numb, even when his vehement swing upends me and the ground sharply cuts into my back. The First Lance thrusts the tip of his blade into dirt, for I contrive to roll away, leaving a scarlet trail behind, and by touch find the hilt of Masamune. Groaning, I release the blue scythe blindly, putting my impetuously dwindling strength into this strike, and with rising despair watch Maetsuki cleave it disdainfully easily.

However, Masumi's sword stops his next attack, and before the world falls into a black hole twice in the last four days, I have time to see Maetsuki mounting his beast and realize that the Wutai are finally retreating.

* * *

I wake up to the sounds of a familiar voice, now angry and impatient.

"No, you cannot tell me I am not allowed to see him, because I don't care about hospital rules and regulations and even less about some smart Hojo's assistant needing to do a checkup."

The response is hasty and muffled, and despite my current state, it provokes a ghostly smile, an expression of frail joy to hear Genesis' voice instead of Hojo's or his assistant's.

"No, _you_ don't understand that he is my…"he falters, even I can hear it, "… my friend, and I am not some tertiary cadet. I am a First Class SOLDIER, and if this title does not mean anything to you, call my superiors. Certainly, not! My name is Genesis Rhapsodos. Do you need my personal number? No? Then can I see him at long last?"

My glance falls onto the sheet, finding my right arm lifelessly resting across my chest, bloodless fingers clutching the bandages because the keen pain is hard to bear even for me. White is blending with white, and I absently wonder when was the last time I have seen them stripped of black gloves. Was it when I caressed my lover's skin, so smooth that I can still remember the sensation? It hurts to breathe, it will hurt more to speak, yet nothing is more poignant than feeling bedridden and helpless again. I still remember a flash of refulgent steel that left this mark as well as the bearer of that sword, whose combat skills appeared to have surpassed mine – a discovery I am not pleased to make any time during this war. It means more arduous training once I get out of this hospital, more practices with materia – even though I rarely rely on magic – and, likely, more mako injections until I will feel fit to face him.

Maetsuki, I whisper his title; my first real enemy.

Then I wonder if this was the marvel I was expected to perform.

Genesis finds me recumbent on plain white pillows in a separate room of a field hospital where wounded commanders are usually treated. I turn my head to the sound of the curtain being nearly torn aside only to be met with a dramatic gesture followed by an equally dramatic exclamation.

"Damn you, Sephiroth!"

"Genesis," I return calmly, focusing on my friend's – no, my lover's – blurred face. My vision lacks usual keenness due to the effect of the painkiller drug that has not receded yet, therefore I half-close my eyes, fatigued from the artificial bright light, but not before I notice he brought a newspaper with him.

"Tell me, why do I have to learn that you have been wounded and lost in the swamps from Angeal, who in turn heard it from Lazard?"

Although it pains me to breathe, I cannot restrain a deep sigh, not even certain I need any explanations. "I was occupied by pressing matters."

"So busy you couldn't send me at least a line that you were alright?" Genesis asks with a familiar subborn frown – a reproach he does not hide.

I did not even think of it.

"Can this wait?" My voice fades to whisper, but my lover does not seem to notice why. Still affected by the aftermath of my defeat, I am not in the mood to talk at all, notably argue about something as insignificant as me forgetting to send Genesis a message. Insignificant compared to the overall situation on the battlefield.

"Only because you are wounded," the redhead pronounces with such fervor that I understand he will not forget the matter easily. I hear him move a chair closer to my bed, and then, cool and soft, his fingers ghost over my forehead, brushing off plastered silver tresses. "I was worried, you know. At first, you disappear, then I am told you didn't arrive at Masumi's base, and finally Lazard calls to let us know that you were severely wounded in the last engagement, only he did not know how severely. What was I supposed to think?"

While the redhead is speaking, his fingers are slowly moving along my cheek, the caress light and gratifying, like gentle summer breeze. I feel slight guilt for not thinking about my lover, and the emotion is distinct among others equally not pleasant. For a moment I wish to say something, to explain myself further, however, those words never pass my lips.

"Why were you transferred?" I ask instead.

"After you were wounded, Lazard decided it was for the best to join our forces. Here, look at this." He opens a newspaper on the second page and points to his picture above the title, _'Genesis Rhapsodos, the Shin-Ra elite SOLDIER, captures a warehouse with ammunition supplies'_. "Three days ago I stumbled upon this unobtrusive village on a hilly plain, and it turned out to be a Wutai warehouse."

He smirks with content, eyes sparkling with excitement when he glances at me, his previous uneasiness and seriousness forgotten in a heartbeat. I return his smirk, turning the page over to the headlines, and my own face stares back at me, hues of my hair and eyes depicted so meticulously that I seem alive.

"_Sephiroth, the silver SOLDIER, saves the day once again_." I read to myself. "_News of the week: the disaster at Ohira turned into unquestionable success due to his heroic feats during the Wutai assault_."

Exaggerated, as always. I put the paper aside, having caught it with my left hand before it slid off the sheet. At least, Genesis received his recognition.

"How is Angeal?"

"Never been better. Now that we are all together again, I will have to think of something for later, when he comes to visit you." He rises and stretches, grace and smugness united in just one movement as he throws back his head and unbends his shoulders. "I could not wait. You should have seen the faces of the hospital personnel when I told them I was here to see you. They didn't want to let me in, but when they heard my name, all their resolve was dispelled as a cloud of dust. As if anything can stop _me_. Poor, naïve souls."

"You were lucky they did not have Hojo's assistants around."

My lover scoffs. "Not even Hojo can forbid me to come in here and have my share of your attention and peerless beauty." He takes a seat on the edge of my bed and runs his hand along my thigh wrapped in a thin sheet and a hospital gown. "Not after you left me so worried and definitely _not_ when I thought of us kissing so often that I don't know how I managed to capture that warehouse." With every word Genesis' tone turns sultrier, almost a seductive whisper when he finishes speaking, and he bends lower, seeking my lips, swallowing my chuckle with a satisfied and at the same time needy, '_humph_'.

When I eagerly part my lips, he carefully climbs on top of me, managing not to intensify my pain, whereof I forgot during our short conversation. Belatedly, I place my uninjured hand onto my lover's chest to forestall his actions.

"Genesis, you should not…"

"Who cares? We are alone…"

My objections are ignored with ease I am not eager to fight, for I missed kissing him as well although barely had time to dwell on the thought. I can allow myself a harmless kiss, I am thinking as our lips hungrily join and my lover's tongue slides into my mouth. I wrap my lips around it, no longer uncertain of how it is done, and relish the warmth and softness that is my lover. In turn, Genesis captures my lower lip, tenderly playing with it, each caress extending to my groin until I can feel that something so innocuous is turning into a…

"Sephiroth, are you…" Entering the room, someone speaks to me, then lapses into confused silence at the sight of Genesis engrossed in kissing me. Slowly, the redhead frees his lips, inhaling deeply, and turns to the curtain. Not knowing what to think or expect, I raise myself a little as well to take a look at the speaker above my lover's shoulders, recognizing him at once.

His face awry with expression of sheer shock, eyes widened and mouth agape, in the doorway stands Angeal.


	15. Chapter XIV

_**A/N:**_ I still was unlucky and the trip was almost 11 hours. So thanks for being patient, and my beta, AlexJ69, is back. :) (and insanity is my second nature XD).

* * *

_Chapter XIV._

Steps light and posture stiff, as though he is facing superior officers, Angeal makes his way towards my bed in awkward silence. Genesis sits frozen by my side, back reclined against my bent knee, and from the tail of my eye I see his flushed face. The way he bites his lower lip, desperately trying not to look guilty, as if caught stealing from the Sin-Ra arsenal, elicits belated amusement, yet at the same time I... humph, I am glad we were not interrupted by Hojo's assistant.

Genesis breaks the silence first with a rather feeble attempt to start a placid conversation. "Angeal, this is not what you think it is…"

My older friend halts half-way between my cot and the entrance door, arms crossed over his chest in the most resolute manner, as though he is about to reprimand us for the failed mission.

"Huh, and how do you know what I think?" Stern, steel-gray eyes are no longer widened with surprise, and his decisive tone does not betoken an easy discourse. "You, of all people, should have had the decency to tell me the truth. How long?"

"All right," my lover sighs and unnoticeably gropes for my hand, "this _is_ what you think it is, but I can…"

"How long were you in a… a _relationship _with Sephiroth?" Each word is uttered distinctly, his glare not softening even as Genesis attempts a small smile and an equally unfeasible ashamed glance. Is he ashamed of me? Yet, remembering what the redhead once mentioned about Angeal, I decide to remain silent.

"A few months, but I… we were going to tell you… eventually."

"A few months…" the startled expression returns to Angeal's face.

"Angeal, I thought it would be… better…"

"You are my best friend, and I thought we had no secrets from each other just as you promised me one sunny day by your apple tree, and then… I find you kissing Sephiroth. I don't know what you'd be thinking in my place, but I don't understand why I earned such dishonesty from both of you." My older friend adds with reproach directed to me. "I just hope you know what you are doing."

Defeated, Genesis drops his head onto his chest, letting me observe the gentle crook of his neck as it joins with the elegant jaw line, but soon his temper gets the best of him, and his next words ring with defiance, all previous humbleness forgotten in a heartbeat.

"Yes, Angeal, I know exactly what I am doing. I like Sephiroth, but there is more - we are lovers."

For a moment his fingers clench mine with force, then release them when he impetuously rises and walks past our older friend as though he is not there.

"Is it true?"

Angeal's eyes find mine and do not let go until I curtly nod instead of speaking unnecessary words notably now, when I am in pain. I only have to move my fingers slightly, and the feeling of flames raging inside my chest returns; coughing, I cover my mouth with my left palm, then drop it onto the covers, wondering how long I will be impaired like this. Fighting is my life, after all.

"Have you thought about honor?"

"What of it?"

"Genesis is your fellow SOLDIER, and while he is known to make reckless decisions, I didn't expect anything like that from _you_."

Perhaps deep inside I realize there is a share of rightness to Angeal's words, but instead of assenting with his statement, stubbornly object, "I fail to see anything wrong with my behavior."

"A relationship," my older friend continues in an edifying tone, "of that kind should be between a man and a woman only."

"And who says it? You?" Genesis' acerbic voice rings muffled, since he still refuses to face us. "Spare me your lectures about honor and pride, because I _do_ have my pride."

"I wasn't going to say you…"

My redheaded friend is rarely content with being on defensive. Impulsive – I would even say careless – he often charges into battle headlong, without much regard to himself or the enemies; in a similar way, he confessed his feelings, having straightforwardly confronted me a few months ago.

"You don't need to say words aloud to express what you really think." His arm dramatically describes an arc, as he pivots on his heels, eyes aglisten and fiery hair scattering on his forehead. So much passion… a truly unique quality I have not observed in many. "And don't try dissuading me – it will save your precious time."

Angeal frowns. "You are my best friends, and I only do what I think is best for both of you. And, Genesis, stop being so presumptuous. "

For a moment the redhead stares at Angeal as if he is going to incinerate the latter with his gaze; then his eyes widen for a heartbeat, making him look vulnerable, exposing the billowing emotions.

"Sephiroth. Was. Wounded." He utters distinctly, yet without anger. "And all you do is come here and argue about us becoming more than friends. I am not discussing this subject – at least, not here and not now."

This declaration shatters even Angeal's stoic, nearly endless patience. With a hasty apology, he dashes out of the hospital room; uncharacteristically uneven steps are heard in silence for a few more moments before fading in the monotonous tick of the clock.

Genesis wearily sinks into a chair.

"This is why I did not want him to know, but, don't worry, I'll talk to him later. He'll understand."

I feel dubiously about Angeal's reaction, yet at the same time too tired to contemplate on the matter now.

"Sit with me," I ask the redhead, groping for his hand until my fingers find the smooth, elegant curve of his wrist resting on the sheets.

My eyelids begin to droop, as I drown in recollections – fetid stench of death, falling bodies, and imbrued Masamune, its sharp tip penetrating armor and spine cord, paralyzing my enemy. Apathy seeps through the corners of my mind, like cold rainwater through sand, as none of my battles leave me truly unscathed. I learned to suppress fright – a natural survival instinct – else I would have died a long time ago, but with it the other emotions ebbed as well. At one point, I questioned their influence, deeming them to be unnecessary weaknesses.

"Don't go," I quietly repeat, even though Genesis doesn't move, the only flutter being scattered sunlight spots dancing on his face, in his eyes, deep, azure, unreadable. At least, I cannot read them.

"I wasn't going to," he replies simply, yet even in such simplicity there is an enigma.

Angeal could wait.

With that thought, I finally fall asleep.

… My next awakening is abrupt and unpleasant, as if I was battling the Lifestream – the part of it that had been injected into my blood with mako – when its poisonous quality to unify everyone had the most effect on me; when I was younger, weaker. It is darker outside, and orange specks of light are spilled on the floor, contrasting with green of a hospital lab. Genesis sits in an unaltered pose, his head reclined against the back of the chair, the only change being a book lying across his lap, pages downward. His hand is resting on the cover, its dark brown corner clutched between two fingers. When I open my eyes, he stirs and stretches, shamelessly flaunting his alluring elegance and eye appeal.

"I brought you water."

I nod with appreciation and gulp the whole glass, ignoring a short pang in my chest. "I did not have time to ask where we are."

"The army ended up relinquishing Ohira, for there was nothing left to defend besides charred soil and ruins."

"Did you…"

"No, not yet. I'll give poor Angeal time to think about his words; the revelation has to be befuddling for him, and I do have a little mercy left. Can you imagine finding the two of us kissing on the hospital bed?" Genesis rises to draw the blinds, laughter passing his lips. "That would have been something, don't you think?"

"I… I find it hard to imagine."

"I am not surprised in the least. You never have much imagination when you're not concerned with military operations or some intricate issues about mako. When we first met, I thought I had never met a person socially… more inept and at the same time… more intriguing. You have improved a lot since then." The redhead finishes smugly.

"Have I?" I parry with an equally challenging smirk. "My improvement is strictly your merit, I suppose; the innuendo was quite clear."

"Irrefutably so. It was hard though, at first, for you obviously didn't want anyone in your life." My lover's face turns nostalgic. "It now seems amusing to me how… how I tried to impress you."

I raise myself on my elbow to see the redhead's face. "Don't tell me you stopped trying to impress me."

"Remember our first mission together? I went as far as embarrassing myself in front of our superiors just to show that I was as diligent in obeying Shin-Ra orders as you were. Maybe, even more diligent."

"How could I forget? It was rather reckless and foolish of you."

The redhead leans over and brushes my lips with his, a wide grin playing across his face. "If I knew that my escapade elicited such feelings in you, I would have been crestfallen."

"Are you not?"

Genesis does not answer. His mood changes abruptly yet anew, and his rueful question takes me aback, "What did you dream of when you were younger, Sephiroth?"

I think of his words for a moment, but nothing specific comes to my mind. "I learned, I perfected myself, but dream… I rarely dreamt."

A steady shuffling of feet interrupts Genesis' next questions; from the sound of it, there are at least half a dozen of people approaching my room unhindered.

"Are you expecting someone?" Thin eyebrows fly up in graceful arches above bright cerulean eyes. I give him the same perplexed look.

"No one contacted me after I had awoken. You have seen it yourself."

The door opens, and a familiar face appears in the doorway; it takes me a moment to remember the siege of Fort Tamblin and the first interview I gave for the television. Tony Ergatz was the reporter's name. His crew throngs behind him, casting curious glances at both of us, cameras flashing with familiar red lights. I am seized by a sinking feeling it is not a simple misunderstanding.

"We apologize, but the news of your feats at Ohira reached us late at night, and we came as fast as we could to interview you personally and hear the story from your lips, Sir."

"I am not answering any questions – notably in front of the television cameras – when I am in the hospital." Stiffening, I remark coldly, all sympathy I express towards my friends carefully hidden underneath a flawless mask. "Who authorized your presence?"

"But, Sir, we already…" the reporter tries to squirm from giving a direct answer.

"Who gave you the authority?" I am merciless, and with the tail of my eye I notice Genesis' approving nod. Cornered, Tony Ergatz extends me a paper signed by… My eyes slightly widen when I notice the familiar intricate flourish of the Vice President's signature. Rufus Shin-Ra.

"No. It cannot be." I clench my fingers underneath the white sheet, fighting acute pain in my wound and the sudden feeling of helplessness accentuated by a betrayal of my superiors. Is it truly what they want to see appearing in the headlines of the morning paper – a wounded SOLDIER? And whereas Shin-Ra's reputation concerns me little, I am not going to be on display bedridden. "I would ask you to leave."

My voice must have betrayed me, for Genesis pushes the paper into Tony's hands – he still stands in indecision – and nearly shoves him out of my room.

"You heard him; he was not going to answer your questions."

"But I was specifically given instructions by…" the reporter weakly objects only to have the door rudely closed in front of him.

"What an outrage!"Genesis flings his arms. "What are they trying to do, for Gaia's sake?"

Even the slight emotional strain enfeebles me again, and I feel my attention slip due to the recent heavy blood loss.

"You will have to call Lazard and tell him about the incident with another reporter. It might be the missing piece of evidence against the Vice President that will put an end to this chain of misfortunes."

The redhead nods. "Don't worry, I will call immediately."

When he is by the door, I add a bit hesitantly. "Thank you."

"You are welcome."

He is smiling; I can hear it in his voice.

* * *

I did not talk to Angeal the next day or the day after that. Genesis and Hojo's assistant remained my only visitors; the latter came all the way from Midgar to question me about the incident and record more data. Scientists always spoke about my failures as though they were of exploratory importance only, nothing more personal than miscalculations in a report. He left after injecting a large dosage of mako into my veins, which rapidly accelerated my recovery.

On the second day after I had awoken, I was allowed to leave the hospital room for a long walk and even train for a while although the occasional pangs in my chest considerably hindered the flow of movements.

On the third day I decide to wander around the settlement to make use of my free time while waiting for the wound to heal.

The village we occupied for the temporary base is even smaller than Ohira and cannot provide enough quarters for both civilians and the army, therefore Masumi made a decision to drive the inhabitants out. As I walk through the streets, emptiness and abandonment draw my attention; fields and orchards have not been tended for a few days, yet the signs of neglect are obvious – plants droop from heat, paths are strewn with green dots of weed, and doors to the deserted homes flap in the wind. Dust hangs in the air above the streets, like a silent witness of decline and war, and only thick clouds gathering on the horizon promise some relief. There is a chance of a thunderstorm breaking out later at night.

Here and there, I see small groups of soldiers chattering by fences. They glance at me, however, I express no desire to join them, continuing my way towards the center of the town. There, toppled with a steeple, proudly stands a temple to the Wutai deity, its black granite walls glistening faintly like scales of a huge lizard.

Where did the villagers get this expensive stone? How interesting.

Inside, the building looks even older than from the outside, dearth of decorations a contrast to the variegated colors of nature around the temple. In the heart of it there is a small library and, seized by a feeling more profound than mere curiosity, I make my way through corridors between tall shelves crammed with books and covered in dust with a peculiar scent. The smell is somehow familiar.

To no surprise, I soon find Genesis. Having surrounded himself with books, he avidly reads from an old tome, lips absent-mindedly whispering separate words. His pose is flippant, back resting against the shelf, legs crossed and heeled boots tucked in. I approach as silently as I can not to interrupt the redhead's pastime, and it seems he doesn't notice me, continuing to keep his eyes buried between dusty pages. However, when I open my mouth to greet him, he presses a slender finger to his lips.

"Hush, Sephiroth. Sit down." Having torn himself away from the book for an instant, he forestalls the question that is about to pass my lips. "It is a myth, but a strange one."

Having reclined against the wall, I steal a glance at the pages Genesis is reading only to have him move the tome away with a wry smile.

"Have a little patience, Seph. To summarize what I have already read… once there was darkness in the west, and it came to the land of Wutai in the shape of a great beast. Two heroes challenged it; one was from the North, the other – from South. They were honorable men with many virtues and strengths, but even they could not face the beast and win so they returned home and prayed to their deity…"

"The Leviathan?"

"Yes. And their God gave them a great gift of their Ancestors – a gift of strength, speed, and power. With it, the heroes crushed the beast and returned home, victorious and venerated. Moreover, it is said that the protector of the Wutai land will always give power to his faithful followers in dire times. Here," Genesis bends over the old pages, brushing an importunate lock off his forehead with a swift movement of his wrist. "…_and even though the heroes had perished, the blessing of their Ancestors remained with the Wutai people. Those most virtuous and strong in spirit know that in times of need they have to turn North or South and follow the light of the brightest star, which will lead them to the sacred places of yore._ Isn't it fascinating?"

I find it interesting, but not in a way Genesis does. To every legend there is a share of truth, even if it is carefully hidden between the lines. I thoughtfully touch my chin, my mind already racing.

"But … what are they?"

Genesis winces, "I don't know. Turning north and south can simply symbolize the unanimity of the whole country against the enemy."

"Humph… strength is in unity, it is obvious, Genesis. This tome hints at different strength, provided by their deity, Leviathan; perhaps, it is an old ritual. Perhaps…" I look up, frowning from thought. "It comes from two pillars, the northern and the southern, only I suspect it is a more metaphorical comparison to an actual event. You are good with metaphors, so why don't you tell me?" I end up unable to refrain from playfully reproaching my lover.

My lover closes the book with a thud, raising a cloud of dust that settles on his hair, already powdered with white. "It's a mystery, like the Gift of the Goddess."

I reach out for the top shelf to put the tome back despite the slight discomfort in my wounded chest. In response, Genesis rises and meticulously shakes white specks of dust out of his hair.

"We will come back tomorrow to search for more information," I suggest, heading for the exit. The redhead's hand gently settles on my shoulder pad and stops me; having slightly turned my head, I meet his innocent gaze. "What is it, Genesis?"

"I wondered if we might… stay here for a little longer."

"Oh?" I feel my eyebrows rising. "What an ingenious thought."

"Since you weren't keen on expressing it yourself, I could call it… ingenious."

The shelf feels rough underneath my shoulder blades as I am pressed into it with the redhead's body. Genesis' lips are warm on mine and they taste of dust and old mysteries; I trace their contours with my tongue, finishing with a few gentle nips on his bottom lip.

The redhead frees his mouth, whispers into my ear, his breath tickling my skin. "It is so hard not to think about you." His leather clad fingers are cool on my bare skin, caressing it lightly, teasingly, slowly, and my breath breaks off in my suddenly dry throat. Genesis's touches arouse me easily, because I suppressed my desires for most of my life, having no time or wish to explore this nature of human relationships until the redhead dared me to, having awoken my interest.

I am about to answer, but Genesis swallows my words, his kiss hungrier and more insistent than mine; his hand presses my uninjured one to the shelf, fingers entwining with force, tongues following, as if in a battle of their own. His leg moves slowly, sliding in-between mine, and the gentle movement together with his lips, hot and demanding, is enough for me to slip. Leather creaks against leather, and when Genesis' hand runs along my thigh, I move away. My lover's mouth is half-opened, breaths escaping him less evenly than usual, and I can feel his chest heave against mine. Moistening his lips with his tongue, he looks so tempting that I cannot refrain from sealing his lush mouth with the last kiss before turning to the exit.

"Not in the library, Genesis; have some shame."

…Later in the day we meet with Lieutenant Clark and Masumi for a short briefing. Angeal is already there, waiting, and when I enter with Genesis, he stares through us at the wall, avoiding our gazes on purpose.

"I tried to reason with him," my lover's whisper is apologetic, "but he obviously needs more time."

"What is wrong with him?"

"He still thinks that our kiss was a bad idea," Genesis smirks and confidently takes a seat by the large table in the center of the premises.

Masumi's face, however, is serious, and the redhead abandons his flippant mood, leaning over the map.

"The President ordered an advance," the blond SOLDIER begins, "not to allow the enemy to gather strength and retaliate. Turks will be arriving tomorrow to help us with espionage missions while the army will be busy preparing the ground for the decisive battle…"

"Decisive battle?" I interrupt. "It is too early…"

"It is," Masumi agrees easily. "Yet, the preparations are to begin as soon as possible. The President wants the war to end before winter."

"Then, I presume, you know of the enemy's weaknesses – where their soldiers get as much strength and how they are able to breed monsters."

"The Turks were working on it," says Masumi, "and while you were in the hospital, Tseng and his group located and destroyed a military lab." The General circles a village on the map somewhere to the south-west from our current base.

"The First Lance retreated to the fortified city; our reports say he is planning to deter our forces for as long as possible," Clark points to another dark spot on the crinkly map. "Before even making further plans, we will have to dislodge him from that position. It will be bloody, damn bloody."

"I will need a detailed satellite picture of the city and the surrounding area."

"This shouldn't be a problem, Sephiroth," Masumi makes a note, a wrinkle creasing his forehead, "yet we have to be cautious. The battle of Ohira ended in a stalemate even with your assistance, and however invaluable it was, we need more."

"More training?" Angeal suggests. I look at my older friend, but he pretends he doesn't notice my meaningful glance.

Masumi nods. "I will assign SOLDIERs to train the regular army units on daily basis; the group will include you, Angeal, and my adjutant, Maory."

"I hope I will be sent to more exciting missions," Genesis quietly remarks.

"Sephiroth, Genesis," we turn at once. "Your task will remain the same – to study the terrain and the enemy, while undermining their strength by capturing cities and villages."

The redhead snorts in his usual, slightly superior manner. "You want us to do the missions blindly, am I correct, General?"

"Unfortunately, we cannot hope for more assistance. The Turks are already busy with different tasks, and the department is short of staff."

"How unfortunate indeed," my friend mumbles with mocking notes, and it is hard to tell whom he is mocking – the enemy's fate, himself, or, perhaps, even the General. Whereas the redhead told me I was an intriguing person to meet, my lover is no less enigmatic; like the old mysteries of Wutai. Smirking, I remember the library.

The meeting ends shortly afterwards; I have a feeling we haven't decided anything in specifics, our only objective being to outline a rough course of action. In that, I believe, we succeeded.

Angeal tries to leave the room after Clark and the General, yet Genesis adroitly intercepts him.

"You can't avoid us forever, Angeal."

He stubbornly lifts his chin, casting an accusative glance at me. "Shouldn't you be busy with yourselves?"

I inaudibly sigh, studying the flaps of my coat. "Why do you have to be so resentful? I do not understand…"

"You don't understand many things," my older friend declares in a somewhat didactic manner.

"So that's your excuse then."

"For now - yes."

Genesis hems and slightly stoops, showing he is defeated; Angeals passes him without another word.

"Just know that your silence and slighting attitude are not going to make me reconsider." The redhead shouts after our older friend, but his words shatter against the latter's back hidden behind the Buster sword. "Great! That's just great! And he is supposed to be the oldest and the most level-headed one amongst us."

I shrug. If Angeal cannot accept our feelings for each other, I won't be the one chasing him around trying to explain myself. I have too much pride for that.

Suddenly, my phone beeps and I ask my lover to wait for me in the room until I finish the conversation. Lazard's number flashes on the dark screen and when I answer, the Director unexpectedly announces, "The President ordered to recall you from the battlefield for two days. He needs you and Genesis to participate in the arrest of Rufus Shin-Ra."

Lazard doesn't say '_his son__'_, and I remember Genesis telling me about the rumors of the Director being the President's illegitimate offspring.

"So the traitor turned out to be the Vice President indeed," I cannot keep all amazement form my voice.

"Not exactly," I can swear Lazard winces. "But his responsibility for the latest incidents is unquestionable. Being quite young, he wasn't able to cover up all his tracks and betrayed himself completely, having authorized a journalist to access your private room at the hospital three days ago. Your injury was to be kept a profound secret from public for obvious reasons."

I glance at the darkening skies, watching the first heavy droplets fall into hot dust and being avidly swallowed by arid soil. This is the thunderstorm we expected this afternoon, and another one will be following in the evening.

"What does the President want?"

"The arrest has to proceed as secretly as possible therefore we need you and Genesis. Afterwards, Rufus will be ostracized from the company… for a long time." Unexpected exultation resurfaces in Lazard's voice. "The President decided against making it a public humiliation; there will be no trial, for the amount of evidence is overwhelming. Instead, the expulsion will be done quietly. I agree with his decision; the less negative attention we attract to the company and the war, the better."

I outstretch my arm to catch a clear droplet with my gloved palm and lose it as it seeps through my fingers, landing on the toe of my boot.

"I understand. When will the helicopter arrive?"

"Six sharp."

"Do you think we can expect resistance?"

"I hope not. The President will be disappointed if the news of the arrest leaks out into the media."

I nod and press the button to cancel our conversation. Lazard's instructions leave no room for ambiguity.

Having leaned against the doorway, I freeze with the phone clenched in my hand; above me the icy-green mountain plunges its peak into the friable dark mass of clouds, a strange confluence of weather and landscape. My head suddenly feels light, no thoughts burdening me, a state of complete indifference.

My eyes close. I am remembering.

_…The sound of rain water spattering against the glass is akin to myriads of small drums, rhythmic and incessant. The window is mantled in a shroud of rain and through the blurred reflection I see Midgar – the lights at the bottom of the pit blink brightly, and from the usual shafts of smoke only scattered smirches remain. Seized by curiosity, I turn to the man dressed in a white smock with glasses on his crooked nose._

"_Professor Hojo, why does it rain?__"_

_Silently, he extends me a book I have read before and, if asked, could remember lines exactly as they were worded; lines, containing perfectly scientific explanation about the difference in air temperature and warm air reaching saturation._

_However, that wasn__'__t what I desired to know._

_I wanted to hear a simple answer..._

Hojo never gave me simple answers – if I received them at all. Often, he liked to repeat the purpose of my coming to this world, three simple words I have been hearing since I had clear recollections of myself.

War. Conquest. Victory.

When I first stepped out of the immaculate lab, the fourth word wedged into my mind in a succession of vivid images, unfamiliar sensations, and confusing emotions.

World.

* * *

**Interlude I. Three.**

Silver moonlight seeped through streams of rain, blending with short, painfully bright streaks of lightning. The thunderstorm ruthlessly lashed the high tower, clean rivulets running along the granite walls, joining, and falling into dark depths to cleanse the land of filth, to dispel thick clouds of heavy smoke, to instigate rebirth. Night stretched its arms, mantling everything in dark weightless velvet as if attempting to mollify the enraged nature – a worthless try.

The skies periodically blazed up with ghostly light, and in response darkness roared with maddening laughter, which made the moon seem a small, pitiful orb in the vast expanse of nocturnal welkin.

Three men watched the same moon from the opposite corners of the world, unaware of fate being divided between them, unaware of the thread that connected them; the thread, which was stronger than steel and at the same time weaker than human will. Three men. Three wills. Three droplets in the ocean of similar wills. Three atoms in the eternity of the universe.

Three men and the fourth one behind them, a silent silver silhouette.

Three. Almost nothing. Almost… everything.

One was slender and blue-eyed, another was short and light-haired, the third one – desperate. One was smiling, the other – nervously pacing up and down the small room; the third one – motionless. One was happy, the other was cornered, and the third one carried the fate of his country on his shoulders, a weight too much even for him to bear. Genesis, Rufus Shin-Ra, and Maetsuki Hiroto, the First Lance.

The redhead watched the thunderstorm from the room whereat his lover peacefully slept for the first night after he was injured in a battle. The thunder pealed, yet the thick, black lashes on pale cheeks didn't even tremble; only otherworldly sheens danced on scattered silver tresses, the flutter being one of the few signs of life. From time to time, Genesis shot a glance back, in rare moments of complete quiescence hearing the faint cadence of Sephiroth's breath.

Maetsuki was concerned with the course of the war, after the most recent events on the battlefront feeling that his efforts to protect his land, his family, his _everything_ could be in vain. He did not fear dying, yet was reluctant to admit his death would not change a whit. An image of the silver-haired youth occupied his mind, and then the storm outside took shapes of the wrathful Leviathan who could not forgive his chosen warrior a failure to crush his opponent. Sephiroth was the name of that little demon, and although he had not yet done much to present a cogent threat, the mere fact that with all his training and enhanced strength Maetsuki still failed, troubled the First Lance.

It was the first time when thoughts of ending the war quickly by basely extinguishing the rising star of Shin-Ra were begotten in the darkest corners of his mind.

Rufus Shin-Ra could not find rest, overwhelmed by the emotions a conversation, which occurred a few hours ago between his illegitimate brother and his father, elicited. He overheard it by chance, having realized that his whole scheme was shattered, his carefully woven web – torn, and his rival ended up being one step ahead of him.

Lazard – his father dared call the progeny of a slum whore his _son __– _was finally able to put the pieces together and with the new, overwhelming evidence Rufus' cat-and-mouse game was doomed. The President ordered to recall Sephiroth from the battlefield for a few days to make sure the arrest proceeded smoothly. The name of the silver-haired teen meant little to Rufus Shin-Ra – his father had many competent leaders by his side – but if the SOLDIER was even half as good as the news from the battlefield reported, he had nowhere to run.

Rufus had twenty-four hours between the fragile moment called _the present _and a moment when Sephiroth would enter his luxurious apartment on the top floor of the haughtily erect Shin-Ra tower.

Three men watched the thunderstorm gain strength for the last time before clouds dissipated, the rain stopped, and the full moon emerged from underneath the blanket, lucid and bright, triumphant. Three men sat and watched the silver halo fade with the first strokes of dawn.

Three men. Three wills. Three droplets.

Three.

And the fourth one inseparably behind them.


	16. Chapter XV

_**A/N:**_ SephyRocks… It always makes me happy to hear you are enjoying how I write Sephiroth. XD

Thanks to AlexJ69 for being an awesome beta and providing invaluable insight on Midgar. Here I am to make up for my brief absence. The next chapter will be of this story as well, since I feel it's been neglected.

* * *

_Chapter XV._

Midgar reminds me of an incomplete anthill. As the helicopter approaches it from the west, I can descry frames of houses underneath the unfinished plate, miniscule specks scattered about the bare, roofless side of the city, which then plunge into darkness and blend with it. The languid with heat megalopolis burns crimson under the sunset sky, dust and thin columns of smoke trailing the enormous bulks of mako reactors and skyscrapers. Twilight skies are strewn with moving dots my eyes follow thoughtlessly – they are birds, chance visitors to such a city as Midgar, notably after Shin-Ra had intervened. The construction of the plate began before I left the labs, so I have witnessed little of the upper city's growth – a few buildings appeared around the first reactor together with a train station, but I cannot recall any further changes.

I also missed the moment when the city's upper social stratum accrued enough wealth to divide Midgar, reserving the upper part for themselves and giving the area below the plate to the poor. I have never seen Midgar as a whole, and Hojo wasn't exactly willing to tell me much, yet for those, who now inhabit the de facto capital, it does not take too long to understand that everything inside the city is controlled by Shin-Ra – trade, curfews, the flow of people from the lower plate to the upper and visa versa. There are check points on every train station, and the punishment for violators is severe; nevertheless, not everyone agrees with such drastic class separation. I have never lived below the plate, but my early missions involved patrolling the streets of slums, violence and mayhem being my first challenges and my first impression of the outside world. I've witnessed prostitution, venality, and excessive abuse of drugs, something one rarely sees in the world above the plate where life is regulated by laws. Then I didn't ponder over it much, but now the necessity of separation becomes clearer and clearer to me.

"What are you thinking about?" Genesis rarely fails to express his discontent when I am sitting, deeply engrossed in thoughts, '_purposely ignoring him_', as he silently implies. At times it gets tiring to explain that mine is not the objective to ignore him; it is merely a habit.

"Midgar," I gesture towards the city, sprawled overboard the military helicopter – one of those frequently used for the landing of troops.

"Midgar," my lover echoes, languorously stretching across two empty seats, his pose natural and graceful. It seems he is in his poetic mood, which does not suit well for the task currently given to us. "What can be interesting in the colorless mass of stones and construction, in the quintessence of lifelessness and insipidity? It is like an ugly swell on the ground, which spreads every which way, devouring all that is underneath."

"Thank you for the invaluable insight on my…" I want to say _my_ _birth city_, but in time realize that I have none, "… on the city I always lived in."

Brushing a brazen lock off his forehead, Genesis throws a glimpse at me I cannot decipher even with all my extraordinary abilities, which are easily rendered utterly useless by my lover's actions and words. "You are very welcome."

I avert my face with a soft smile that creeps on my lips without any effort on my part, "Midgar wasn't always divided, but then Shin-Ra came and times changed. I know very little of what was in the city's stead before."

"Your words reminded me of a mission, when we had to patrol the slums for the first time. I saved you then, even though I was scared to muteness."

So Genesis still remembers it. "Saved me?" I sham amusement. "I cannot recall anything of the kind."

Sometimes I enjoy how the redhead reacts to my words, unaware that I am looking, as trimmed locks, which fall across my face, help me keep my inquisitiveness hidden. Challenge sparks up in azure eyes brighter than any other emotion, and for a moment too short for the redhead to notice I lose myself in them.

"You can't forget how we got lost in the slums and you were clumsy and unfortunate to have fallen into the old, abandoned sewer." Genesis laughs. "It took me two hours to find an alternative route to get you out, because you were too embarrassed to call Shin-Ra and ask for help."

"I wasn't embarrassed…"

"You know, it is fine to be ashamed once in a while. Furthermore, it was the first time I thought I wanted to kiss you, because…" For a heartbeat he ponders over his words, "I saw a different side to you I never thought existed. You weren't the hero I longed to meet and share an apple with, but… real perhaps? You were still yourself and yet… different. I hope you understand because I cannot explain better. Don't even ask."

"No." I am honest. "I don't understand. But I bet you wanted to kiss me from the very first moment we met."

Genesis blushes, but before he can counter my words, the pilot interrupts us. Having turned the microphone on, he announces, "We will be landing in a minute, Sir."

I look out and through the creeping mist watch the dark spot of a helipad draw nearer until the refulgent lights of the colossal city pass out of sight. About a dozen people, among whom I immediately notice Lazard, are bustling about the landing site. Once the wheels touch the pavement, the Director, dressed in his always impeccable, dark-blue suit, runs up to the helicopter and waits until we jump out of the cabin.

"Glad to have you back," he has to raise his voice to shout down the sound of the rotating airscrews. "The President asked me to brief you personally before the mission."

"I have only one inquiry." I say as we head downstairs. "Are we to engage in a battle with loyal Turks and SOLDIER if the Vice President was alerted to our presence?"

"Officiously your hands are untied. In the reports the battle will be described bloodless, I hope your understand why."

I nod, and we continue walking through the familiar maze of white corridors in silence.

A small group of SOLDIER – two Thirds and a Second – awaits us by the entrance door to the private suits of the highest Shin-Ra executives, a place I have not been invited to heretofore. Two Turks with equally professional expressions on their faces is the last addition to the '_guard of honor_' as our escort will undoubtedly be called in a report. Lazard swipes his card through the slit and pushes the door open; sharp neon light fades into soft hues of yellow with a tinge of green, the hallways change from being barren to richly decorated, the wastefulness too exaggerated for my taste. Even Genesis, the ever so irrational one and addicted to amenities, does not approve of the style of the adornments, heavy, metallic, and bombastic. I can picture him thinking that they lack the necessary _aesthetic qualities. _

The door to the Vice President's rooms is solid black steel, guarded by two Turks. When we approach, they resolutely shield the entrance, and I notice how one of them reaches for his gun.

"The Vice President is not receiving any visitors."

"I have orders from the President himself," Lazard replies. "We are here on official business."

"What official business? The Vice President did not notify us…"

The paper in the sealed envelope solves the misunderstanding, and the Turks reluctantly let us in.

I have not seen the Vice President before; rumors were afloat that he was the young son of President Shin-Ra, however, I certainly did not expect to see a child of sixteen or seventeen, blond, lean and pale – almost fragile. He is sitting in a relaxed pose in a huge armchair, his expression somewhat bored and lazy, yet he is not entirely capable of concealing the fear I recognize, for I am apt at seeing and analyzing negative reaction to my presence. It feels as if Rufus is awaiting us. More Turks appear to be in the room, and friendly is not the word I can describe their countenance with.

"I see my father sent you to entertain me, Lazard. How very thoughtful and generous of him," his thin hand brings a cup of tea to his lips, "to offer sudden attention to the son he so often neglects. You can convey these words to Mr. President when you see him."

The Director ignores the caustic remark, "Rufus Shin-Ra, you are under arrest for attempts to sabotage the military effort on the Wutai front by disclosing secret information to various media sources and even the enemy. By the President's orders, you will be ostracized from the company and placed under domestic arrest for unlimited period of time at the Junon military base. Your lot will be from now on decided by your father."

I have to admit to myself that Rufus takes the news with calmness worthy of notice if not praise, again making an impression he had been expecting our intrusion.

"And what if I don't want to?" The defiant undertones in his voice remind me of Genesis.

Lazard adjusts the rim of his glasses as if to focus on the insolent child the Vice President must have appeared to him.

"In your current circumstances," he then shrugs with light remorse, "I would advice against putting up any resistance."

"It doesn't seem he genuinely regrets his words," acute as always, Genesis doesn't fail to mention. "Now, if the rumors about them being half-brothers are true…"

I give my lover a telltale frown, whereupon he falls silent.

The blond youth leaps up from the deep armchair, eyes sparkling with enmity, yet I react first. His maladroit movements knock the tea cup off the table, but before it breaks Masamune leaves its place behind my back and flies through the air, its tip directed at the Vice President's throat; I deliberately guide it so that the angle seems harmless as does the distance to the youth's chin, however, it can take me less than a heartbeat to finish my fatal strike. Rufus understands. Shifting his eyes from the SOLDIERs ready for a fight to his loyal Turks, he finally accepts his fate.

"You are simply my father's expensive toys," his words come out as a spiteful hiss, audacious, yet contradictory to the resigned expression on his face.

The rest is a matter of minutes. Two Thirds advance towards the Vice President with clear intentions to handcuff him, and once they cross an invisible line, a Turk – one of those who guarded the door – pulls out a gun and aims a bullet at the one of the SOLDIERs to my left. I jerk Masamune, thrusting it backwards, since in a narrow room I cannot swing it without fearing to hit the ceiling or loyal SOLDIERs. Genesis unsheathes his sword, raising it to strike the Turk in front of him, his thrust parried with a thin black rod. Someone moans, Lazard dashes towards the door, and I feel the tip of my long katana pierce something soft. As I am turning, moments freeze, for there is so much happening at once – pinned with Masamune to the wall, like a butterfly, the Turk struggles to pull the blade out of his shoulder; my lover overpowers his opponent, smirching the wall with his blood, and Rufus Shin-Ra uses the commotion to grab a small silver shotgun he was hiding somewhere underneath the table.

The loud shot deafens me for an instant. Bullets emit blue sparks, colliding with the blade of Masamune I tear out of the wall, and with its flat side knock the weapon out of the youth's hands. Rufus tries to escape, but my lover leaps across the room, blocking the only exit door.

When the Vice President and his Turks are escorted by the remaining SOLDIERs and the wounded - taken to a hospital, Lazard briefly congratulates us on another successfully accomplished mission.

Genesis surveys the room, adorned with carmine streaks over the expensive upholstery and wallpaper, and with an elegant gesture brushes dirt off his uniform. "Why did the President need us? It was not the easiest mission I have been on so far, but he certainly didn't need all that assistance."

Lazard gazes at us above the rim of his glasses. "Because you don't know Rufus Shin-Ra. We can consider ourselves lucky, since he didn't have time to prepare properly for our _visit_."

* * *

"Welcome, Sephiroth."

Genesis opens the door to his apartment and invites me in with a graceful gesture. The night we stay in Midgar he wants to spend in the quarters he shares with Angeal, and, being honest with myself, I understand why he prefers them to mine although my lover asserts that the only reason is his favorite couch. No matter how hard he tried to explain the attachment some may feel to furniture or clothes, the notion remains foreign to me.

While the size of their quarters successfully vies with mine, the pied hues – shades of blue, brown and burgundy – is what makes them look different, beyond my ability to compare on more than one level of _warm-cold_. It nevertheless appears pleasant to my eyes and I repose myself on my lover's favorite couch with delight. Genesis returns with two cups of steaming tea, placing them onto the coffee table, then slides into the seat by my side.

"I wanted to ask something of you," he begins hesitantly. I nod to reassure I am intently listening to him. "Don't be mad at Angeal."

I feel surprised to say the least. "I never said I felt anything beyond discontent. Anger? Why would I?"

"We were very close in Banora; we still are… as friends, of course, and I think he isn't just unwilling to reconcile himself with the situation, where the two of us ended up in a relationship, for merely a reason of the said relationship being… unorthodox… in his view." His gaze searches for a reaction on my face, but I am unsure which one he is looking for. "I think he is slightly jealous of us… afraid that now I have you and I'll forget about him. Silly Angeal."

"I still fail to see what hampers us to be friends with Angeal as before we started a relationship of a different kind."

Genesis sighs, looking somewhat embarrassed. "In _our_ world romantic relationships sometimes ruin friendship, because for many people feelings of this kind are more important."

_Romantic relationships_? I never thought of my feelings for Genesis that way. I always pictured them to be something very close to friendship.

"So… is it what you call a _romantic relationship_?" I make an absent-minded gesture with my gloved hand, as if about to swing Masamune, pointing to both the room and my lover.

"Well, you aren't exactly a romantic, but if you want me to, I can be one for the both of us." He tightens his grip around the leather straps and pulls me closer, almost close enough for a kiss. I don't succumb to a sudden, intoxicating wave that washes over me every time the redhead is so teasingly close, remembering his previous words that bothered me. "Who is more important for you? Me… or Angeal?"

There is something wounded in Genesis' gaze, even if he tries to show me that my words do not evoke any emotions. "You are just as silly as him," to my ears, his cheerfulness sounds wrong, feigned. "Both of you are… very important…"

I do not fully understand his internal conflict, therefore change the topic quite abruptly. "I am going to take a shower."

The redhead mimics my pose, having risen to his feet and taken my gloved hand into his. "How about taking one with me?"

I nod after a short pause of contemplating about his offer. "And I am not angry with Angeal."

Having discarded the uniform in the room, we step into the shower cabin, this time identical to mine aside from a soft burgundy rug on the floor. I was never particularly ashamed of my nudity, which I blame on my early years, and neither was Genesis, so the awkward moment of facing each other naked passes quickly. My lover slides the door shut and turns the water on. Tepid droplets begin to ooze from the tap, winding into streamlets that break against my shoulders and splash up the glass walls. The redhead eyes me from head to foot before joining me under the falling spurts. And it is inevitably his hand that ends up on my chest, his touch blending with trickling sensation of water gliding over my skin.

"Wait," I catch his palm to draw it aside, simultaneously throwing the heavy mass of silver hair off my shoulders. He stops, bewildered.

"What do you want me to wait for?"

Dark-golden hair plastered to his forehead, lips beaded with moist and skin dripping with water, Genesis looks tempting and he knows it well enough to take full advantage of it, but I steal a short moment to contemplate instead of touch.

In a way my lover is a mirror of myself; albeit his physique is more refined – slender waist, narrow shoulders, and gentle outline of hips - his body is sinewy, as if specifically chosen for a SOLDIER to be from birth. I don't think I've ever spent as much time marveling at the redhead's build before, and yet, I feel, there is more between us than an obvious attraction of sexes. In everything he does there is this - I frown mentally, trying to choose the right word _- inner flame_, which I found impressive, and looking back to our first meeting, I now wonder whether I have been truly impressed from that very moment.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you mind?"

"No, but I would prefer you kissing…" a shade of a sly smirk, "everything you are gazing at."

"Humph, patience is a virtue."

Azure. Warm and mercurial; vibrant. Through clouds of vapor Genesis darts an intense glance at me. "And who would be an author of such an undoubtedly genius thought? You?"

"No," I shake my head, "actually, this time it was Hojo."

Laughing, the redhead kisses me, and I feel pleasantly warm water running between our lips and along my chin.

"Don't mention Hojo; every time you do, the mental image is capable of bereaving me of any arousal even when we are so close to each other."

My arms snake around the redhead's waist, bringing our hips together until his narrow ones perfectly wedge between mine; water is running along our thighs, between our flushed bodies, adding warmth to the natural sensation of such a contact. A wet mass of silver falls onto my lover's shoulders when I lean closer to whisper with a trace of sarcasm, "Hojo."

Yet, our proximity predictably affects my lover; eyes tightly shut, the redhead runs his fingertips along my forearm gently, as if afraid to break the contact. His lips are inches away from mine and a few inches below, water dripping along their mellow lines. I can feel he is not as unabashed in my proximity as before and remark with satisfaction. "Your threat was rather futile."

He is still hiding his glance between wet auburn tresses, only the soft curve on his mouth sharpens – and he graces me with a cryptic smile with just one corner of his lips. There is something in it, which I feel belongs to me only – not to his subordinates or even our best friend, Angeal – a whit of fascination mixed with lure, and my heart skips a beat.

"…Yielding to no man's desire,  
Glowing with a saffron fire,  
Splendid, unassailed, the golden…" he softly mutters, then lapses into silence, broken only by the sound of falling water.

"Why did you stop?"

He emphatically shakes his head and stretches his arm towards the small shelf crammed with shampoo bottles. "It was nothing." Again it sounded mendacious and again my lover quickly changes the topic before I ask further questions. "Do you mind using my shampoo? It smells of apples, but it's better than Angeal's cool ocean breeze. Trust me."

Gently, his hands coat my waist-length hair with weightless foam, which flings the faint fragrance of promised apples. I join him in the task, no less gentle when sliding my fingers through the redhead's auburn locks one-by-one. My lover is the only person capable of evoking this side of me. When the warm water washes off the remains of the shampoo, I pull him closer and, lacking patience to wait until we get out of the shower, kiss him. His hands glide over my body in appreciation, as he submits his lips to my deep and slow examination. In his every response there is this deceptive obedience, even in softness of his lips, which soon gives way to rough caress. He sucks on my bottom lip as his hand reaches lower, cupping my strained flesh; his fingers find the most sensitive spot, offering it persistent strokes until – head thrown back against the creamy tile – I shudder in delight. To please my lover it takes a lot less effort, for kissing me and watching me left him flushed enough. Quietly moaning into my lips, he lowers his head onto my shoulder and turns the water off.

The misted glass of the shower cubicle does not reflect our bodies at first, but as we stand, motionless, joined, the white haze recedes and the inaccurate mirror throws back the slightly distorted image of our embrace. Genesis breaks it first, stepping out of the cabin and wrapping himself into the large towel. Having quickly wiped himself, he spends a few moments strenuously drying his hair.

"I'll be waiting for you."

Airily, he throws the towel over the glass wall and vanishes. I finish my shower, dab my hair until it is no longer dripping (it will take an hour for it to dry completely), and find my way to Genesis' bedroom. As I remember it is the first one down the hallway, and I turn out to be correct when through the chink of the opened door sight my lover. The redhead is lying on the bedcovers, legs tangled between sheets, which reveal more of his nakedness than they actually hide – an unambiguous invitation, I suppose. To his delight I accept it, slipping underneath the cool, white covers.

I remember one time we had to stay in one bed for the mission outside Midgar. I felt nothing of the sensations I am feeling now; but then, perhaps, Genesis' leg, slipping between my hips, is to blame for it. That and the smoothness of his warm skin.

"You have beautiful hands," the redhead takes my hand, pressing his lips to my fingers as he lusciously murmurs, "hands of an artist or a sculptor, so thin, so elegant."

I chuckle, directing my eyes towards the dark ceiling. "I am an artist and a sculptor, only of a different kind. You have to admit that there is something fascinating in death. When you wish to describe it, your words and poetry will fail you."

"In death I find nothing charming, sorry I disappointed you," my lover's lips climb along my neck, and settle comfortably on my jaw line, so that I can hear his faint, emollient breath. "I, however, do find poetry and art captivating. Maybe, I should teach you how to see and appreciate beauty in small things, starting with the most obvious of all."

"Which is?"

"Of course, it is me, my friend." I expected any answer but the blunt one I got. A moment of silence I spend staring at my lover's face ends with his soft laughter. "Whereas I don't need any more proof of your attraction to me than the way your body reacts to my touch, it… doesn't hurt to hear what you think once in a while."

"I believe you overestimate yourself," hoping it will be enough for my lover to change the topic, I fling a half-serious remark, yet achieve the effect directly opposite from the desired one. Having raised himself a little, Genesis leans over me, looking downwards with the scrutiny of challenge, and his dangling earring sparks up dimly in the dull light.

"And I am certain you underestimate me, for I leaven you in more ways than you can grasp."

"How so?"

"I feel bad for being the one to refresh your perfect memory, but less than an hour ago you wasted time, marveling at me. Don't deny it, voice your thoughts aloud... to please me."

"Just to please you? Humph, let me remember." I let my hand pass over the curves of my lover's back, stroking his skin. "I was thinking that your body perfectly suits the profession you chose, and one day you will surpass many SOLDIERs."

Genesis throws his head back, his whole body shaking with laughter in my arms as he tries to stifle the sound until, having given up, laughs unquenchably.

"Should I feel flattered or offended? With you, I don't know."

"Flattered, Genesis. I am not prone to make compliments."

"If that is what you call a compliment, either you are not trying hard or… I finally found something you are awful at." My lover certainly does not like to feel inferior. I chuckle softly and instead of answering, join our lips.

… Before I fall asleep, a memory of the Wutai library comes to my mind. Curled by my side, the redhead has been silent for a while, and I whisper my inquiry without anticipation to hear an answer.

"What do you think that gift of strength, speed and power is?"

However, the reciprocal question rings at once. "Sephiroth?"

"Humph?"

"May I ask something, too?"

I turn to him, amused. "You certainly may."

"Can we not talk about the Wutai war in bed?"

* * *

"… Pride. Honor. Dignity. These are the values I have been raised on, taught from the beginning of my path in life, and we need to live up to those high standards. I know it is not easy, I know that… things may sometimes turn out differently than we expected, but… "

Arms folded over my chest, I stand, leaning against the stone wall of a house cold even in the rays of the warm morning sun. Angeal's speech was quite long, but I missed the most of it although it is incorrect to say that I am disinterested in my older friend's words. Some of his thoughts I've heard before, others I have a hard time relating to, like his notion of honor. Efficiency always comes before honor, interpreted in the standard way I noticed in my friend's beliefs and in actions of the Wutai warriors.

I can see the need for victory. I cannot see the need for a mindless self-sacrifice.

The day after Rufus' arrest, we exigently returned to the battlefield, and it felt as if the interruption in the monotony of our stay in the village never occurred.

Genesis sits on a windowsill, dangling his legs, shod in heeled boots, over its side. He looks bored, but patiently waits for Angeal to finish a thought so verbose it could make any speaker genuinely proud.

"Does this mean you are fine with me and Sephiroth being lovers?" He asks once our older friend finally lapses into silence.

"Do you leave me any choice?" He lifts his hands in dismay. "If this relationship makes both of you happy, I won't be the one to stand in-between. I gave it some thought during the last few days. A lot of thought, to be honest. Maybe, one day you will grow out of it and find a woman to marry and create your own family with."

Women never interested me much. I've met but a few and doubted I'd ever be willing to put my time and effort into understanding their nature.

"So you don't believe I genuinely like Sephiroth…" Genesis assumes a warlike demeanor, ready to argue with all the passion that is inside him. Angeal forestalls his welter of indignant words.

"I did not imply that. I simply think that once you grow up, you will understand the true meaning behind this word…"

"The true meaning…" the redhead mocks, "how touching. Has it ever occurred to you that there is no _true_ meaning… to some notions? Love is not the Gift of the Goddess to be one for everybody; it takes on different shapes and changes hues from tender to radiant and ardent. Have you ever allowed the rationality of your mind to feel something that defies the laws of said rationality? And if so, then how can you talk about my feelings for my friend as… different, even lower than those I could experience towards a girl?"

During this outburst all I can do is shift my gaze between the arguing friends, feeling the need to thrust my own words in, yet finding no opportunity. They seem to have forgotten I am standing only a few feet away. Then suddenly Angeal turns towards me.

"And what will _you_ say, Sephiroth?"

"I…" intently studying the speck of dirt on my boot, I am caught unawares. Again, this is one of those moments, when I am feeling a lot less confident than during the bloodiest battle. "Even if I try, I cannot say it better than Genesis. But I don't intend to harm him, or let any harm befall him, so you don't have to be so concerned about us."

I don't get to learn whether my words satisfied Angeal or not, for Lieutenant Clark approaches us with a message from Masumi. Even before he says, "The General is expecting you, Sir," I can very well guess the meaning behind his presence.

This time Masumi isn't alone. When I step into the small room, her face attracts my notice at once. Scarlet of the Weapon's Department. In response, she gives me and Lieutenant Clark a small, appraising smile.

"She is here on an official mission," the General leans back in his chair, straightening an engineering drawing on the table. "The President commissioned her department with finding a suitable weapon against those monsters. What do you think, Sephiroth?"

I bent over the picture, scrutinizing it; it is hard to tell how efficient the mechanized weapon would be just from the sketch.

"Despite all the fuss about your accomplishments, gentlemen, the President still needs something more solid," Scarlet scathingly makes what she feels to be an astute observation. I tear my gaze away from the weapon drawing, tempted to object, but eventually deciding against expressing my dissatisfaction and contempt. It was easy for them to judge the state of the Wutai war from a safe distance. Besides, her boastful remarks have not yet been proven to answer the conceited arrogance, with which they were spoken.

"I need a specimen of those to test in a battle," I return with dignity. "It will be a good enough proof of its efficient performance. Or its uselessness."

Masumi nods. "She brought one, and the evaluation reports give high praise to this new… weapon. I, however, trust in my men more than in those… machines."

"Let's not make plans too early," retorts the head of the Weapon's Department.

I turn to Masumi. "Are there any missions currently available? I'll take any, however insignificant."

"There actually is one. A small detachment of the Wutai reinforcements is heading to Masumi's stronghold. The interception point is five miles to the North, and the helicopter can take you there in less than twenty minutes."

"I am taking Angeal and Genesis with me."

The General brushes a blond lock off his face in a tired gesture. "Why do you need such a force? It is a small group."

"Our objective is to test the new weapon, not combat the enemy. I want it properly guarded."

"Then I'll give my orders not to unlade it."

Scarlet smirks. "I will hang around to see how good the result of my team's work is."

…Both Genesis and Angeal are glad to accept the easy mission. To both of them – and me – it is an entertainment of sorts, and, besides, it will occupy our minds and distract from continuing that odd conversation although I feel Angeal is not yet done lecturing us. With a sigh I jump into the cabin of a cargo helicopter, and it rises at once, leaving the peaceful village below and behind in instants.

As the General advised, we lay the ambush in a small coppice by the road the Wutai detachment will be taking. Barring unexpected minor difficulties, this should be a simple and quick assignment. Scarlet provided a scientist, who was supposed to execute control over the weapon, however, looking at the man so pale that he seems ready to give back the contents of his stomach, I begin to doubt his ability to help us.

The weapon itself is an unwieldy mass of steel with occasional plastic parts; its voluminous trunk rests on two legs and two guns substitute for the arms. It took no less than ten minutes to lower it from the military helicopter on two ropes of thick steel. Even if the mechanism proves its usefulness, taking it to missions where the prime objective is stealth is not an option. Moreover, it stands out against the background of green trees and bushes, giving away our position to even an inexperienced scout.

As I surmised, the Wutai notice us and assume a more or less ordered formation before the scientist wakes the weapon. Still pale from fright, the man clumsily presses random controls until Genesis, having lost his temper, accidentally pushes the power button. With gritting sounds the mechanism returns to life, turning its 'head' in search for the target, and waddles up to the enemy lines. Too lumbering. Too slow. Too loud. Too weak.

The last thought comes when the enemy opens steady fire. The rain of bullets lashes the weapon's body and legs, causing it to stagger. Turning its 'head' as a bewildered human being, it manages to fire a few rounds, killing two Wutai infantrymen, before exploding and collapsing in a smoking pile of rubble. Useless.

I turn to the scientist, who tries to make hasty apologies.

"W-we had no time to test its armor, Sir. The resources of the Weapon's department are very limited… and the financing… due to the demands of war... is inadequate to carry out the research outside the lab..."

I sigh and swiftly gesture to the enemy, looming behind the trees. Therefrom curt orders are heard, blending with the hurried footfall, muffled against the carpet or grass.

"I suppose Masumi would still expect us to deal with the enemy," I can't stifle a somewhat content smirk, "even if the experiment was a failure."

"So is this the best Shin-Ra can do, huh?" Faithful to the oath of his, Angeal unsheathes a standard-issued Shin-Ra weapon, leaving the Buster sword stripped to his back. In turn, Genesis eagerly jumps up and shakes the numbness he complained about while waiting.

"Good luck," he says with a genuine, bright smile I return more subtly.

Masamune slips into my hand as if possessing its own will (sometimes I think it actually does). I give it an experimental swing, watching its blade leave a swath on the thick carpet of verdure. The coppice grows silent, all natural sounds absorbed by the noise of the nearing battle. The Wutai pour into the small glade, where, having sighted us, weaver; it appears they can recognize the First Class SOLDIERs now, and seeing the three of them in one place isn't what their leaders expected.

"Retreat," a hasty order is issued, but I anticipate it and before the enemy has time to scatter between the trees, reach for the fire materia. The interaction with the Planet is brief and evokes a firestorm, which quickly meanders between the trees, climbs up the wilted brunches, sinking its claws into the mossy bark. When separate streamlets join into a wall of raging flame, the Wutai move backwards and away from the unendurable heat.

"Genesis, take the left flank, Angeal – right," I address my friends in a commanding tone and rush towards the center.

Using their confusion to our advantage, we attack their formation from three sides in unison. Flitting in the air, Masamune sings its usual song, swings blending into incessant, rustling whirl. With many opponents I rely on speed more than on power. Bodies fall in a habitual pattern, staining the ground with blood, swords held up for defense, break, and I effortlessly tear their rows asunder.

From the tail of my eye I can see Genesis adroitly maneuvering between obstacles of the terrain and then performing one of his most spectacular moves when he attacks his enemies from above. Angeal's style is based on power, more reserved, less showy, yet from the way they both deal with their opponents it is hard to judge who is more efficient.

Steps merge into flowing movements I am performing almost subconsciously, reacting to numerous attacks at once, parrying and reposting, with but unobtrusive movements of my wrist. The air groans, cleaved with Masamune, as it airily glides over the enemies' throats and chests, harmlessly at first sight, yet with every blow a Wutai infantryman falls; and then everything comes to a still. I close my eyes to calm down and rid myself of the whirl of motley colors.

Needless to say, our victory is fast and complete, and to crown it the trunk of a tall tree, blazing from top to bottom, crumbles, as though having sunk in the lake of liquid flames.

Genesis had slain the leader in a short one-on-one combat, whereof he doesn't fail to mention.

"However, these infantrymen are from the regular army units," he adds at the end.

"Indeed. They were easier to combat than those I encountered at Ohira."

"Do you think some of them get this gift and others – don't? Sort of like SOLDIER and mako injections…"

"I wonder if that's the case."

"What gift are you talking about?" Angeal is engrossed in wiping blood off his sword, but our conversation attracts his attention.

"In the library back at the village we found a myth about a gift the Wutai warriors get from their Leviathan deity." Genesis explains. "But where and how they get it, or what it is exactly isn't clear."

"I thought something was different about some Wutai I fought."

I nod. "Maetsuki is the strongest among them and until we defeat him, there will be no victory for Shin-Ra."

I approach the lifeless husk of the new weapon, squat down near the spot of crumpled and burnt grass to take a closer look. The damage seems fatal even to an unsophisticated eye – the metal carcass is bent and the joints melted from the recent explosion. Scarlet will be in for an unpleasant surprise. The scientist is nowhere in sight, likely, hiding from us.

"I will call a helicopter," Angeal suggests, rummaging for the phone.

I slip by the heap of steel and towards the smoldering cutting in the coppice, turning my head back ever so slightly for a curt reply.

"Don't mention the outcome of the mission. I would like to speak to Scarlet personally."

Genesis' words follow me, as he gives his usual dramatic performance.

"…The wind sails over the water's surface  
Quietly, but surely…"


	17. Chapter XVI

_**A/N:**_ My HUGE thanks to my wonderful beta, AlexJ69!

_Sidenote: _Blitzkrieg is a term, which means a swift intensive military attack (in German). Yeah, I am rather not inventive here. ^_^

* * *

_Chapter XVI._

A few uneventful months passed. Aside from several nearly bloodless skirmishes, little changed on the Wutai battlefront, but I felt it was a calm before the storm. There was an attempt to hold a summit between the leaders, yet again they could not accede to each other's demands. To me it made no difference, for I was here to win.

In the meantime, reports delivered by Veld and other Turks from the Wutai stronghold, indicated that Maetsuki was doing everything possible to fortify his defenses and gather as many troops as he could. Shin-Ra was busy doing the same, emptying military arsenals of the Junon base and employing as much personnel as possible.

Summer changed into early, chilly fall. Trees turned yellow; mornings became misty and cold, the fields and groves – barren. The sky, a whimsical, unbounded vast, lost its rich blue and mauve hues, showing itself in rare gaps between gray clouds. Genesis said that the autumn welkin was shy, like a flirting coquette. My lover tended to be poetic quite often, a mood that surprised me on more occasions than I was willing to admit.

My eighteenth birthday was on one of those indiscernible mornings, but aside from my friends' greetings (I still deem these customs unnecessary) the day went by as three hundred and sixty four preceding days.

During this long delay I was tirelessly training, perfecting my skills with the sword and materia, preparing myself for future encounters with the enemy's best warriors and generals. As in my early childhood years when Hojo was the one to choose my opponents, I had the toughest monsters in the realm to fight. Shin-Ra was always generous. I rose early and fell asleep late, feeling nearly dead from exerting myself, each time challenging new limits I did not know I could challenge. I would make sure the Wutai paid an exorbitant price for my development, because between those who had my loyalty, and those who were my enemies, there stretched an abysmal pit.

I was not taught to show mercy to the adversary, and I rarely did unless… unless there was something impressive about them, like there was something subtly eminent about Maetsuki. I admit if the war wasn't as important, I would have probably never fought him to the death as I knew I would have to some day.

At times my thoughts returned to Masumi's words about the miracle I was expected to perform. What did it mean to me? Was it something significant, beyond a personal, challenging goal I knew I was not yet worthy to achieve? No matter how many times I played with these notions in my head, the answers remained abstruse, above my reach. However, at the same time there was a familiar feeling that some of these ideas were a closed chapter in my life. There were days when I knew the Wutai were my enemy, then there were days when I questioned my feelings or rather lack thereof.

And then there were days when I could not stop thinking about the disaster at the Yellow Marshes, and new doubts came thick upon me. I felt I missed something there, and instead of paying attention to a life of a single soldier, I should have been aware of the grim consequences such decision was fraught with. But – as with everything I have experienced so far – following the rules of war was harder than reading about them. Harder, but not impossible.

This was when the realization became genuinely lucid to me – soldiers were the expendables, however, the generals were not.

At any cost.

* * *

The rocky cliff ends abruptly, descending from underneath my feet to the forest about twenty cubits below. The steep slopes are overgrown by moss and sparse trees with but a few bare spots of gray stone scattered now here, now there.

I approach the end, aligning the toes of my boots with the thin black line, and watch a small stone bounce off the sharp juts of rock as it falls and disappears in the thicket of thorny shrubs. Below, the gray band of a train crawls by the edge of the forest, sending short trembles through the ground, and more rocks, each as big as a toe, cascade down with a rustle. Without turning my head, I follow the passenger cars until they disappear, having rounded the bend of the railroad.

It is late morning; this I can tell by the direction of falling sunlight. The wind is gently playing with heavy flaps of my coat, wrapping them around my legs. The smell of late autumn is spilled in the lucid air, the memorable scent of fallen leaves, oak bark, and imbued with rainwater soil. Once Genesis said so, adding that to him, it always smelled of Banora apples no matter where he was. I, being meticulous about details, reminded him that Banora apple trees bring forth fruit randomly, to which he said that I ruined a poetic metaphor.

_Ruined? _

Humph.

The staccato sounds touch my ears, still faint albeit growing louder with each moment. This time the ground shakes tangibly stronger, and I can safely surmise that the approaching train is the one I am waiting for. A few hours ago, my unit was dispatched to complete a small mission to sabotage Wutai attempts to deliver more weapons into Maetsuki's stronghold. During the last few months all my missions were similar.

I unsheathe Masamune and close my eyes, separating the sounds of nature from those of the freight train nearing our ambush.

_Five… four_…

I begin the countdown as Clark's voice announces into the long-wave transmitter Shin-Ra uses for communication on the battlefield, "Target confirmed, Sir." The rest of the unit is stationed three miles ahead, which gives me… three minutes to stop the train. It shouldn't be too bad.

_Three… two…_

Taking a few steps back, I gather my long hair and tuck it under the leather coat. In the meantime, the locomotive shows from around the cliff, moving slower than the train just a few minutes before. A chain of cars stretches behind the prime engine in a bending line with barely noticeable gaps in it.

_One… _

I run a few feet and, having pushed off the edge of the cliff, land onto the steel roof after a handspring in the air. Flaps of my coat are blown apart by the wind as my feet touch the solid top. To maintain balance, I grip on to the handrail girding the roof, and straighten. Masamune flies up in my left hand, ready to strike. Nothing. I quickly look to my left, then to my right. The Wutai haven't noticed me yet.

It is hard to move against the wind, but there is nothing impossible to achieve for a SOLDIER. Adroitly jumping over the breaches between the cars, I head for the first one in the chain, remembering the three minutes I have. The roof vibrates under my feet, making it harder to maintain balance, but I manage. Having reached the head of the train, I halt and swing my faithful sword. A thwart flash, and with a strident sound the long blade cuts the steel rooftop across. Strewing blue and yellow sparks, another piece falls off, revealing an opening large enough for me to squeeze through.

The car is crammed with boxes and cases for weapons, the passages between them so narrow that I have to sheath Masamune and edge myself through the chinks. The rumble of wheels drowns every sound that can give away my presence.

My first enemy is a Wutai guard. He stands, absent-mindedly scrutinizing the wall in front, oblivious of my appearance until my gloved fingers firmly clench around his neck. For a moment I can feel the warmth of his skin, even his fear, before his spinal cord snaps in my hands, like a twig. Then, as I lower the body with almost the same tenderness as if it were my lover's, I feel nothing; indifference is a state of mind all too familiar to me.

A life on the battlefield is worth almost nothing. Knowing that is akin to knowing my own importance, but it is not true. I will not go down that easily, which makes me more valuable, special; and what made me such is the power of my mind and body. I smooth a few silver tresses and straddle across the dead body, widened eyes forever disappearing in my memory.

The Wutai often show remarkable mettle when it comes to battling a superior opponent. Not that I think they know my face, not yet, but the presence of a First Class SOLDIER (our uniform is distinct) should be enough even for the bravest to falter. Regular infantrymen don't stand a chance against us, especially if they are small in numbers. However, when I knock out the door to the main engine, they don't retreat. They don't even put the guns down, however useless they are. One sweep of Masamune leaves two bodies on the floor and shapeless red marks on the walls. I slip through the narrow hallway and place my hand on the doorknob.

"What was the disturbance about?" The operator, a short man in dark-green uniform, asks without turning. "We have orders to deliver the cargo without any delays."

I step over the threshold, and for a moment, light, streaming through the windows, blinds me after the scantily lit hallways.

"Stop the train," I order calmly and press the tip of Masamune to the operator's back. He doesn't flinch or stoop, continuing to stand upright even with my sword so dangerously close to his body. There is less than a minute left until I get to the meeting point. "I won't hesitate to take your life."

The Wutai soldier does not turn. "There are things more shameful than death, invader."

"And what would that be?" I ask, having succumbed to momentary curiosity.

"Treason." He replies and presses the acceleration lever.

With one onrush I plunge Masamune deep into the enemy's back, turning it in the wound with a slight movement of my wrist. Blood sprinkles onto the control panel, onto the window, and a dark spot quickly spreads on the green uniform. I jerk my sword out of his back and, having lost support, the Wutai falls to his knees. His fingers desperately clench the flaps of my coat, leaving long carmine trails on dark leather.

"May our god curse you, demon," with those words he shudders in the last throes and sprawls on the floor. Stepping into the pool of his blood, I examine the unfamiliar controls, looking for a distinct red lever. Even on the smirched with blood panel, it stands out and, having gripped it firmly, I release the brakes. Screeching, the train begins to slow down, coming to a complete halt a little further from where I agreed to meet Clark.

The sound of gun fire follows almost at once, when my unit engages in a battle with the Wutai. I leap out of the train, cutting down a running soldier, and join my lieutenant to make his task easier.

Meanwhile, a heated battle breaks out along the whole length of the train. The guards hide behind the steel doors of cars, my soldiers use the cover a coppice provides, taking turns in firing at each other. I do not interfere, focusing my attention on a small group of Wutai soldiers, a dozen or so, which attempts to take in the rear. Having run along the rooftops, I land in the middle of the detachment, catching them unawares while they are crossing the rails.

The first Wutai falls whereat he stands, cleft in the air; the second manages to parry Masamune with his lance, but my next thrust hews it in two halves. I whirl, jumping over the falling bodies, and Masamune leaves carmine zigzags in the air. Up and down, it falls monotonously, not a single time forced to break its deadly pattern. My blade cuts through flesh, steel, and wood equally easily; at times I think I can fight with my eyes closed, so predictable my enemies are.

When I stop, the railroad is bestrewn with a dozen dead bodies piled in odd shapes. I am an architect indeed, for destruction is an art of a unique kind. Recovering my breath, I quickly find my lieutenant as he is accepts the surrender of two Wutai guards. Both of them look dismal and avoid my eyes.

"The train is secured, Sir," Clark officially reports, lowering his gun. "Let's see what they were moving to Maetsuki's stronghold."

I jump onto the footboard and slip into the second car. Again, the same sight meets my eyes – boxes and weapon cases. I tear one side of the nearest pasteboard container and immediately feel the coolness of metal even through leather gloves. Running my hand over the smooth curves, I free the object from layers of protective wrappers, noting to myself that it looks like a piece of armor. The boxes therebeside contain similar pieces, which will make up a full armor for a monster if put together. The next car contains weapons, the usual gun lances the Shin-Ra infantry is incapable of using. The cargo has to be destroyed now. The next few cars are loaded with the same boxes, but the interesting part comes as a surprise. Neither Veld, nor Masumi knew about the oil barrels stored in the tail of the train.

I leave them untouched and find Clark in the narrow passage between the boxes.

"Did you see what is inside?" The Lieutenant nods. "Armor for the monsters and gun lances. Shin-Ra will never be able to use this arsenal. We need to proceed with its immediate destruction."

"But I have direct orders from Masumi, telling me that we are to wait until the helicopters arrive… Sir."

"Then you have new orders from me to destroy the train before the reinforcements arrive."

Clark doesn't look down, resolve shining in his steel-gray eyes. "General Masumi…"

"The General will not be pleased if you question me."

"But you go beyond your commissions, Sir."

During our conversation, three or four soldiers stand at some distance, listening to the brief argument.

"The responsibility is all mine," addressing them, I raise my voice. "Pile the bodies inside the train and use the oil in the sixth car to blow it up."

They do not dare question my orders, even though obey with visible reluctance. Lieutenant Clark does not object either, although his indignation is obvious, and I wonder who they would listen to if my lieutenant decided to disobey.

"What about those who gave up?" He asks in a whisper.

What about them?

"Bring them in for the interrogation. They might know useful information about the number of trains with supplies and their schedule." The dark-haired lieutenant acquiesces, remaining silent under my demanding gaze. "If you want to say something, I suggest you do so."

Clark ponders over my words, then nods without hesitation or confusion. "My soldiers aren't used to trusting someone so… distant, so foreign. In times when your feats are not so obviously inspiring, Sir, I suggest you become friendlier towards your men."

Silence ensues. His words astonish me, but as their true meaning sinks in – the meaning even the lieutenant cannot understand – astonishment changes into pain. I hold Clark's gaze until he awkwardly looks away; then, having turned abruptly, leave the car. They won't see my inner tumult.

_Foreign…_

How very true.

Behind me, the ground shakes from an explosion as the train flies up and asunder in a blazing inferno.

…After we return from the mission, I confine myself to my room and do not leave even when Genesis comes looking for me. When he calls, I simply pretend I cannot hear him. Clark's words changed my mood irremediably, and in solitude I seek solace from once again poignant, haunting thoughts.

Having thrown my coat over the back of the rickety chair, I lean against the wall for support.

_Foreign…_

Clark doesn't even know what he had said, but even if he did, those words shouldn't affect me like this. It happens rarely, but sometimes memories return and I cannot fight them. My strength fails me.

When I left the labs, the world was a foreign, enormous place I feared, for it was unknown to me. It was a place I loathed, because it elicited fear; because fright was a weakness I could not fight, not for some time at least. The reminiscence still returns from time to time in fits of acute anger and dull pain, and then I stand, helpless, my throat constricted as though I am about to cry, yet no tears fall. They never do, not after I washed the first bloody stains off my hands. I would not cry after I went through the experiments tearless, after I proved to myself I could be more than a lost child, facing the unfamiliar world.

That world is unfit to watch me cry.

Slowly, my back pressed to the wall, I take a seat on the ground. Emotions overwhelm me, undesired in their intensity, and all of a sudden I don't want to feel. I crave not to feel, for then the world outside my boundaries no longer matters. Then I don't have to be a part of that, which had rejected me before I was even born. Being alone in moments like these is almost unbearable, yet seeking my friends does not feel right either. This solitude is a sensation even they cannot understand. Face hidden in my palms, I sit still until the outburst ebbs. Then I slowly remove my hands, letting the outside world reappear before my eyes one small detail after another. A chair, a table, a cot. Nothing has changed.

Only I stopped feeling.

I knew that I was born to achieve a greater destiny, and that staunch faith always made every struggle easier to bear. Easier. Almost as if it was just another passing, childhood dream…

* * *

When Masumi asks me to report the outcome of the mission on the next day, not even a wake of my previous doubts remains. I find the General in a room surrounded by reporters with cameras and microphones, giving the interview for the eleventh channel. While I am waiting aloof, scraps of his speech reach my ears, a usual, expected conversation about nothing. We are not allowed to give away secret details about our strategy against Wutai, whereof even I don't know everything. Not yet, I assure myself as per usual. Masumi is talking about our earlier missions, about losses and captured villages, but nowhere does he mention the secret of the enemy's strength, or our plans to besiege Maetsuki's stronghold.

Leaning against the wall, I watch the reporters as they leave the briefing room, talking to each other and occasionally glancing at me. I don't recognize a single face, yet a few of them remember me, for I can hear my name mentioned with the name of Ohira village. No one truly knows what happened there either, only us, the small chosen circle, outside of which all others were kept ignorant for their own good. Ignorant. For good. The two parts of my thoughts connect in a strange pattern, in a meaning, whereof I have not thought before. How… interesting.

I come to my senses when Masumi's words ring in my ears. "Lieutenant Clark reported you exceeded your commissions, Sephiroth."

It appears my legs had carried me into the room without me noticing. The General does not look affable and he is not hiding his discontent.

"Given the situation, I issued a suitable order. The delay could have resulted in a massacre if the reinforcements from the fortress arrived."

"That is not the point. You questioned my authority." I expect these words. Having turned my back to him, I look up, hiding my expression. After the short tumult, I feel disobedient and ready to vindicate my rightness.

"I thought making decisions on the battlefield was my responsibility."

"Not if you were given specific and clear orders. I called Lazard. He said that the punishment was unnecessary."

Masumi can reprimand me, but I won't change my opinion. Having pivoted on my heels, I put both of my palms on the table. "Do you remember Ohira, General? There you said Shin-Ra expected me to perform a miracle. I have thought about it, only how can I if you don't give me enough freedom?"

The incident reminds me of the one at Aichi ages ago, when I proved I was right by posting the sentries. The blond SOLDIER likes my words even less than he liked them then.

"Until Shin-Ra makes you the General, you will be obeying my orders. Is that clear?"

I know when I pushed too far. With a curt nod I draw back and reply tersely, "I understand."

Masumi seems satisfied for now. With a professionally blank expression, which supplants all emotions, he invites Tseng in. The Turk must have been waiting outside the room all this time. Perhaps, he even overheard some of our words.

"We made a breakthrough in tracking Maetsuki's movements and plans." The General begins as nonchalantly as you please. "For the past month we've been trying to obtain clear images of his fortification and get more knowledge about the amount of troops he has inside." Masumi gestures for Tseng to continue. The Turk unfolds a large satellite image of the fortress and points to an unremarkable area at some distance from the outer wall. Brushing an unruly silver lock off my forehead, I lean over it.

"Yesterday I finally received reliable information about an underground passage that starts outside the wall. It is well guarded, and two Turks sacrificed their lives to deliver this important piece of intelligence to us without the enemy having the slightest knowledge about it. If we use it to infiltrate the fortress before Maetsuki gathers enough forces to give a decisive battle to us, the war can be over in less than half a year. The majority of his supporters are strong only when united. If separated and scattered about the continent, the will become easy prey, don't you agree, Sephiroth?"

"I had similar thoughts," I admit after a short contemplation. "If we battle the Wutai tribes one by one, they shall be easy prey."

"The train you successfully destroyed yesterday was very important for Maetsuki, more important than either you or Lieutenant Clark suspected." The General allows himself a quick smile. "I didn't want the knowledge to be common, but the train was delivering four months worth of supplies of steel armor for the monsters. If we act quickly, within the next two or three weeks, the Wutai won't have time to replenish the lost stock. Significantly weakened, they will fall under pressure of four of five elite detachments led by our best SOLDIERs."

I have to admit again that Masumi's words are very reasonable. It seems that the General wasn't wasting as much time as I thought – a pleasant thing to know.

Meanwhile, Tseng shows us another set of images.

"The underground passage leads into the central areas of the fortress past all the fortification. If we attack at night and neutralize the sentries, we can avoid heavy losses. I do not know if Maetsuki is aware of this obvious weakness, but let's hope that he isn't."

The blond SOLDIER nods. "This is why the knowledge about the operation '_Blitzkrieg_' cannot leave this room, Sephiroth. Until most preparations are complete, no one, including your friends, can know. Most likely, they will take part in the infiltration, but they will find out the details later. It is also to our benefit to keep our intentions secret from Lazard as well."

"What did Lazard do?"

The General sighs. "After the incident with the Vice-President four months ago, we cannot trust him completely. They are related, after all. So, to make sure this time our plans will not be interrupted, only I, Tseng, Veld, and you will be let into them. For now, of course. Later on, most SOLDIERs First Class will be joining our efforts, including those newly promoted. You haven't met anyone yet, but among them there are a few promising candidates for this kind of operation."

"Here is a copy of the whole map," Tseng extends me a small stack of papers. "If you can work on an efficient plan how to act after the infiltration, we will take care of the rest."

I look through the papers, letting them slip between my gloved fingers. The images are hard to remember at once and I will spend more time studying them later.

"Next time we will gather in a week again and exchange more detailed information about the progress," Masumi concludes the meeting and rises. I straighten as well.

"I still suggest you find out if it is a carefully prepared trap, Tseng."

"I will." The dark-haired Turk turns to Masumi. "General."

The blond SOLDIER dismisses him. When we are alone, he catches my eyes and I notice strange flames he was carefully hiding in the presence of a Turk.

"I feel this will be our decisive victory in the Wutai war."

"I certainly hope so." Somehow, I cannot share my superior's enthusiastic mood. Rationally, it is too early to speak of a victory. "May I go?"

Masumi nods. When I prepare to leave the room, his words ring after me.

"If we can execute the operation seamlessly and flawlessly, we won't need your miracles, Sephiroth."

His remark stung, but I found myself harboring no negative emotions towards him or Shin-Ra. If the officials don't need my abilities, then either I or they miscalculated.

…Clark finds me soon after the conversation with Masumi. I don't know whether he is aware that I argued with the General, or simply suspects something had happened between us, but his steel-gray eyes study my face more intently than they usually do.

The evening air smells of autumn, and restless birds are flitting across the darkening sky. They are the last ones before winter.

"I wanted to talk to you, Sir."

"About what?" I return nonchalantly.

"About what I had previously said."

I lower my eyes to study the dints on the pathways and fold my arms, a sign I am not going to enlarge on private matters. "There is nothing to talk about, Lieutenant. You expressed your thoughts directly, which is encouraged by Shin-Ra. If you want to take those words back or apologize…"

"No, Sir. I simply wanted to help you."

I smirk bitterly. "I appreciate your efforts, Clark, but I have been taught how to do my job and I will do it regardless of your or anyone else's feelings."

I did not anticipate his acquiescence. "Is it all there is to it, Sir? A job we have to do, remorselessly, pitilessly, purposelessly? A new day comes and with it a new mission we are to execute, but… it doesn't seem right."

I shrug. "What is it then, if not a duty?"

"What about the meaning of it?" Clark shakes his head and, although older than me, looks lost. "Have you ever wished to see the results of our work? That it made someone happy? Have you ever wanted to feel… _right_ about your choices?"

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

"Because this is all shit, Sir." He exclaims rashly. "Killing, mutilating and burning, and then more killing…"

He is being personal again, and I don't like it.

"No. I never felt anything like this, and I don't see the need to."

Something changes on his face, and if I were Genesis, I'd be able to say more about this sudden change. My lacking interpersonal skills cannot give me the satisfactory answer.

"Of course, Sir. You are just seventeen… or eighteen. What can I expect from a child? But you don't have to worry, Sir, for I won't let my feelings interfere with my duties."

"This is what Shin-Ra expects from you."

He slowly plods towards his quarters, but my eyes don't follow him for long. I have too many thoughts on my mind to dwell on something so insignificant.

And so I did not remember this conversation with Clark. As it turned out, I should have.

* * *

Silence is thick, too thick for my liking. Usually I can discern at least faint sounds of footfall or orders being issued, but now even Genesis' breath perfectly blends with this quiescence. Motionless, thoughtless, I lie in my lover's arms, painfully wishing for the lull to last. Is it too much to wish for in my ephemeral world?

Darkness seeps through the window, extinguishing dancing specks of light from the street lamps. Nothing separates us, not even the lightest layer of clothing. Warm skin touches warm skin, bringing tranquility I welcome after a long, tiresome day. The room is pleasantly heated, which only adds laxity, causing my eyelids to droop; my lover's teasing caresses don't help either. Genesis' fingertips are slowly moving along my back until they reach the border of a sheet. There they linger, then hesitantly slip underneath the cloth, gliding over my thighs, the touches ghostly, almost thoughtful. I don't feel foreign now, lying with my face buried in the pillow, but, perhaps, I feel this way because I don't see anything besides a black spot of the headboard. If I turn my head, I will be able to discern the redhead's face. I don't wish to talk, especially about the new mission that preoccupies my thoughts and whereof I cannot talk about, but Genesis starts the conversation suddenly.

"Do you know that when we first met, I was… scared of you for a while, until I got used to seeing them."

"Afraid?" I attempt it in a jocular tone, but judging from the expression etched on the redhead's face, I fail. "Whatever makes you afraid must be noteworthy."

Genesis suddenly looks confused and younger than he is, and I in turn feel a prick of that new feeling a lot stronger now. That _new_ part of me doesn't like seeing my lover hurt or confused for whatever reason. I shift in my bed so that I can meet his glance.

"Your eyes." His fingers ghost over my cheek and plunge into the heavy mass of silken silver scattered on the sheets. "Some say the eyes are mirrors into one's soul, and it wasn't the mako trademark in them that scared me. I had seen it quite often, so often I would know, believe me. It was the look in them, which to this day I can't compare to anything. Children don't have such eyes."

"What are you implying by that?" is all I manage in response.

"You had eyes of an old man." His hand finds mine and squeezes it. "Am I… am I like you now? Look at me and say honestly. Did I change? Am I not the same person you met?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I feel hollow, as if I were wounded and bled until no life remained. It frightens me." He wraps himself in the covers although the air in the room is warm. "Do you think it is because we kill? We take lives and we become empty, like mirrors which reflect nothing but themselves. Endless rows of mirrors… I dream of them at times."

I manage an encouraging smile. "I think you over-complicate the whole matter, Genesis. We are SOLDIERs and taking lives is a routine for us. Do you expect to remain unscathed? If this is the case, you chose a very wrong profession."

"It doesn't bother you then, does it?"

I frown. "No. I simply don't let it bother me."

He puts both of his palms onto my shoulders, eyes, burning with emotions, nearing mine. "Indifference is a privilege of the old, Seph. At times, you sound, you act, you look so old. And it doesn't bother you that you leave parts of yourself behind faster than life demands so, bits and pieces of your hope, of faith, of…"

"I don't know what to tell you, Genesis. Some of it is not my choice."

My lover responds by gathering a handful of shimmering silver tresses. "It is my melancholy, don't pay attention to it. Maybe, I miss home… maybe, I miss the innocence. But, maybe," suddenly, Genesis is all playful again, "I missed touching your hair."

"You don't miss a single chance to touch it."

The redhead disentangles himself from the covers and falls by my side. Genesis is life, I think all of a sudden, all-encompassing, passionate life. Am I becoming poetic? Am I thinking too much?

"I want to take you out to dinner sometime next week and damn all SOLDIER duties." The redhead spins the suggestions out of thin air, which I blame on his vivid imagination. "We haven't been on a date… wait, we have _never_ been on a real date."

"And how would you manage one during a war?"

"I don't know," confesses the redhead, "but I'll think of something even if it includes bribing some sergeant."

I smirk. "I wish it were as easy as you say."

"Have a little faith in me, Seph."

We never finish the conversation, leaving it for another time, for someone hastily knocks on the door, and Angeal's voice says from the outside.

"I am not coming in, for I know you're… busy with yourselves. But something happened at the Shin-Ra warehouse, and Masumi wants all units ready."

"Thank you, dearest," my lover drawls in the sweetest of his voices, at the same time wearing an annoyed grimace.

"Don't call me that," mumbles our older friend and retreats into the darkness of a hallway. Genesis pulls a face and reaches for his heeled boots. Silently, I repeat his movement.

When we leave the quarters, the square in front of the house is filled with soldiers. Craning their necks, curious and anxious, they gaze in one direction, where the nocturnal welkin is painted with glowing red and orange hues. We elbow our way through the throng until we find Angeal, who has the decency not to remember our relationship now.

"What happened?"

"Did the Wutai attack?"

"Where did they come from?"

Questions are heard from everywhere. Angeal just shakes his head when Genesis asks a similar one.

"A Second Class woke me up, telling me to go find you. I don't know what happened, but it looks like an explosion to me."

"Is it an act of retaliation?"

"Perhaps." I reply absent-mindedly and look up. The glow of fire dances on Genesis' face, giving it a macabre expression. "It could very well be."

"Are you not telling us something?"

My lover is too astute, but the General saves me from finding an excuse to explain something I cannot divulge. Escorted by his adjutant, he makes his way through the crowd towards us, ignoring the murmurs and occasional shouts, which follow.

"The Wutai attacked our warehouse," he begins straightaway, his voice grave. "The damage is not yet known, but the guard asked for reinforcements. Now."

"I will go," Genesis eagerly chimes in and before I even comprehend my actions, I join him. Masumi shifts his gaze from my face to my lover's.

"Genesis will go, and you are going to stay, for I will need you at the camp."

The redhead looks positively triumphant, and I hide my disappointment, for it was my utmost desire to go on this mission with Genesis. Airy and careless as always, my lover disappears in the crush after sending me one last, meaningful glance. In darkness I see his azure eyes, tinged with crimson of distant fires, and even as Angeal speaks something to me, Genesis' words clearly echo through my thoughts.

_You had eyes of an old man…_

Did he know that his eyes looked the same?


	18. Chapter XVII

_**A/N: **_Beta'ed by awesome AlexJ69. This chapter is a belated B-day present to myself, an indulgence if you wish, and is dedicated to all my reviewers I had a pleasure to talk to: you make this experience and experiment of mine a real joy. I am glad I have you. :)

* * *

_Chapter XVII._

"Genesis said he did not want to see you."

At first, I cannot believe my ears, but Angeal's stubborn frown does not leave a trace of doubt that I misheard him. I drop my gaze to a small doorknob, then raise it with effort, as if my eyelids suddenly turned leaden. Silence is heavy, for I know something had happened, and the uncertainty of how to act and what to tell my friends makes it even heavier.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you think he would honestly tell me?" Angeal shakes his head without a smile. "But this time it is something serious. He is crying, Sephiroth."

I wrap my fingers around the wooden knob, however, my older friend unambiguously puts his palm on the leaf.

"Then why..." I begin, perplexed.

"He wouldn't talk to me about what had happened, yet requested that you be kept out of this." Seeing that I do not waver, he apologetically adds. "I promised, Sephiroth."

I want to remind Angeal that Genesis is _my_ lover and I have the same – if not predominant – right to know everything, but decide against voicing my objections aloud. Somehow I feel words will not achieve the desired result, only exacerbate the conflict, whose origins I yet fail to understand. A week passed since the Wutai nearly burnt our warehouse, and Genesis seemed fine when he returned.

"Very well," My answer is cold. I turn away slowly, hoping Angeal will reconsider, but my hope seems unfounded. It pains a bit to be rejected so suddenly, without an explanation, but then Genesis is among the people I could never read that well. "If he changes his mind, you know where to find me."

I descend the stairs, deliberate to find answers to questions my mind is swarming with. A conjecture has already emerged from the disconnected series of thoughts, but I need proof whereafter Genesis will not elude me so easily. For that I need to find lieutenant Clark, and there is only one place he can be found at in the evening.

The small bar occupies an unobtrusive corner between two abandoned stores, one belonging to an armorer, the other – with a discolored, darkened signboard – to a baker. Its windows face the impressive pile of a Leviathan temple, its scales of tiling aflame with the red sunset's dying glow – a sight that draws my gaze for a moment. Then I avert my face to look for Lieutenant Clark. After days became colder, more and more Shin-Ra soldiers started coming to the bar, therefore I am not surprised to find the room full. Drinks are being served, and alternating gossip with feeble jokes, the soldiers while away their time after battles, laying aside their fears and anguish. I understand why they act so, however, never join them.

A few steps into the main room, I begin hearing quiet words being whispered ears to ears, whose holders are oblivious their carping remarks are not as concealed as they thought.

"Look, the white-haired SOLDIER..."

"Hush, Dan. Haven't you heard what happened to the guy who insulted him a few months back? In the barracks, soldiers are still talking about that incident when the victim with the broken wrist was quietly discharged."

"But this is outrageous..."

"It appears Shin-Ra staff values him more than us. Deal with it. He brings victories while those boasters and buffoons only piss their pants."

"So it must be true then..."

"What?"

"He can take out a small army all by himself, can't he?"

A tad more rational interlocutor mumbles with a melancholic expression on his face, "How would I know? Ask him, now that you have such an opportunity."

Subtly smirking, I approach the counter and, having leaned against it so that I am facing the room, ask for Lieutenant Clark. The bartender, one of the few Wutai natives allowed to stay at the village after Shin-Ra's invasion, gloomily glances over me and points to one of the tables. Thereat, in blue-gray haze of cigarette smoke, I finally discern Clark's face. He is engrossed in a boisterous discussion, yet once our eyes meet, he excuses himself and rises to join me by the counter with a glass of foaming beer.

"Sir? It is a pleasant surprise to see you here."

"I dropped in on the way to Masumi's headquarters." Having pursed my lips, I reply sharply not to mislead him about the reasons of my presence. "Before I go to the general himself, I have to know what happened."

"When?"

I place three gil on the counter and gesture towards the exit door. Clark accedes to my silent demand and I follow him into the street. The sunset flame has faded, and only scarce red light oozes through gashes in the ragged clouds like blood. Usually it foreshadows the first autumn frosts.

I halt in a narrow alley, which hides behind the baker's store, and turn to the wall, folding arms over my chest either to keep myself warm, or out of habit.

"I need to know what happened to SOLDIER First Class Rhapsodos."

"Haven't you heard of that messy skirmish?" I refrain from an obvious answer, and Clark continues. "Masumi sent them on a routine reconnaissance - mind you, we still don't know why he needed it – and from there things start to get ugly. Preliminary reports indicated civilians got involved."

"Casualties?" The truth finally dawns upon me – why Genesis cried, why Angeal was so protective of him, the only elusive tidbit being why my lover refused to face me. I had to be the first one he should have sought, because I was born to war, and little still remains unknown to me.

"So far, three soldiers are reported dead and one – missing."

"What about Wutai?"

Clark draws a deep breath, and although I expect the answer, strong anguish oppresses my heart. "A woman died by Genesis' sword. Rumor has it, she tried to escape and he didn't have a choice. I will be honest with you, Sir." He continues in a changed, deadened voice. "Seeing women slaughtered, children orphaned, cities pillaged, it is gall and wormwood to me. It reminds me of my own fate, when I had to grow up alone, but as long as I see that we bring hope, that we protect our future, I shall fight. Mako is indeed a miracle, Sir. Why do the Wutai resent it being excavated and spread so bitterly?"

"That would mean that they gave up their land and their freedom." I echo distantly, remembering a man with his hair tinged silver and gaze rendered unwavering by the presence of inner willpower only the blind would fail to perceive. Lord Godo was a warrior no less mettlesome and respectable than any of Shin-Ra elite.

"They simply don't want to change, Sir. Fools. Everything changes fast in our world, and you either keep pace with those tendencies, or you are forced to by someone smarter and I see it a good thing if the change is for better."

"Perhaps."I reply nonchalantly, neither agreeing, nor retorting. Partly, Clark reminds me of Angeal – his faith in _good_ is as staunch my friend's, and when their honor is set at stake, both take it equally painfully. But at the moment neither can appease my worry over Genesis. "However, I need more answers. I would like to avoid bringing this matter to the General's attention."

"You aren't the only one, Sir." I feel my eyebrow arch in amazement at this sudden revelation, but it seems lieutenant shares my feelings towards those in command. "Many of us are perplexed by his actions, and while I don't think he has to explain himself in detail – the secrecy policies aren't to be taken all that frivolously – at least, a hint would help. But I digress. I don't know much more about the incident than I have already told you."

I thoughtfully run my gloved hand through shorter strands of silver hair.

"Why wasn't I supposed to know anything? No one reported even a whit of important news directly to me."

For the first time during our discourse, Clark looks into my eyes with a scrutiny of curiosity.

"You seem worried about that Rhapsodos SOLDIER, Sir."

Both his question and the accompanying gaze make me feel uncomfortable. Am I that obvious? "Naturally so. I worry about everyone, be it a subordinate or an equal, who has been sent to Wutai with me."

...After the conversation with Clark, I find Angeal anew. He is sitting on the nether step of the porch, vigorously cleaning his Buster sword with a piece of soft cloth. Each time I find him removing dust and stains from the dazzlingly polished blade, I remember it's the symbol of his family's honor and ask myself whether my older friend still feels guilt for his father's death and whether he will ever stop feeling it.

"Genesis is a bit better now." He announces, having noticed me approaching. It is not a common knowledge, but enhanced sight allows SOLDIERs to discern movement and details in thickening darkness with no less clarity than in daylight; in twilight we only lack the ability to detect colors. "Nevertheless, he insisted he could not see you today."

"I know what had happened, Angeal." I wrap my fingers around a wooden handrail and clench them to suppress a sudden wave of deep irritation. Genesis' obstinacy is senseless. "As yet, I haven't received any explanation of his behavior."

My older friend avoids my intent glare. "He finally told me everything, but I was stupid enough to suggest that he had a choice. And that he could have disobeyed the order. You must know it was an order. The civilians tried to escape, despite the presence of Shin-Ra army personnel, and Genesis was told to kill one of them." Suddenly my friend ceases cleaning his sword. "Why did I say he had a choice to disobey his superior if the order conflicted with how he felt? He won't talk to both of us now."

"But why does he resent _me_?"

"Sure enough, it has to be his pride. He often rejects those he loves."

I can't stifle a curt laugh and a following sarcastic remark. "Should I now brush away all doubts that he has feelings for me?"

Angeal picks up his sword and flings it over his back in a single, well-practiced swing. "Go to your quarters and try to sleep, Sephiroth. As my mother used to say: an hour in the morning is worth thee in the evening."

* * *

_War is an act of violence to compel our opponent to fulfill our will. To attain the main objective of a war fully, our enemy must be disarmed, and while the means are disputable and often times of purely moot nature, in such dangerous things as war, the errors which proceed from a spirit of benevolence are the worst._

I tried to yield to Angeal's advice, but without feeling physical fatigue my mind cannot find genuine rest.

_If our opponent is to be made to comply with our will, we must place him in a situation which is more oppressive to him than the sacrifice which we demand. If, therefore, the enemy is to be reduced to submission by an act of war, he must either be positively disarmed or placed in such a position that he is threatened with it according to probability._

I flip a page and put the book aside. War always sounds easier when it is described on paper; in reality, finding the applicable angle for each principle in theory is close to impossible, thence sacrifices have to be made and compromises – chosen instead. Propping myself up on an elbow, I spread out the satellite images Tseng gave me on the blanket. I've been studying them awhile, but the solution proved to be hard to find. Today they will be supplanting Genesis' place in my thoughts and by my side, and only the faint, elusive smell of his body, which clings to my sheets, reminds me that we are lovers. I miss him, sometimes more consciously than during the following days, even weeks, but the ennui is always there, deep underneath the layers of thoughts that preoccupy my mind during the day. I finish arranging the photographs with my free hand and, clearing my head, take one last look at them.

Maetsuki's stronghold has very little, if any, weaknesses. Like Fort Tamblin, the fort is situated on a hill, however, it is better equipped and has an intricate system of underground passages, in which Masumi puts a lot of faith. Whereas I am not against his plan, I feel he is not circumspect enough, yet at the same time harbor no illusions that anyone will pay heed to my remarks. Moreover, none knows the source of their power. The only knowledge we possess comes from half-mythical stories, whose meaning got even more obscure the further I read. To obviate another disaster, akin to our nearly total failure at Ohira, I delved into those legends, yet found virtually nothing of use. Followers of Leviathan are attached to florid style, alternating laud for their heroes with mentions of punishment and _ultimate sacrifice_. At first, I dismissed the latter as twaddle, but the authors of manuscripts kept referring to this act, ascribing it to many of their eminent figures of yore. It appears that with a gift the hero also receives a curse, which manifests itself depending on the person's strength – the stronger the willpower of the receiver is, the weaker are the chances he'll be cursed. The _ultimate sacrifice_ to the Leviathan relieves the victim of the curse's tether and of his life. The list of the hero's names, who sacrificed themselves, was annexed at the end of the book after the detailed description of the complicated ritual.

I shift my gaze to the first book, and the words run before my tired eyes, black curlicues on cutting whiteness of a page.

…_the errors which proceed from a spirit of benevolence are the worst..._

Having pushed off the bed, I rise and habitually survey the surroundings, my eyes finding nothing but the familiar contours of furniture, flooded with subdued yellow light. With pictures in both hands I pace up and down the room, hiding my unrest in steady rhythm of strides. Silver clouds my vision as I bend over the images, and occasionally I take time to brush the tresses off with the back of my palm, but rarely so. The solution I was asked to find is very close – teasingly close – for I can feel its touch on the surface of my thoughts, but the harder I concentrate, the vaguer it becomes. Finally, I give up. I will have to see the setting for the forthcoming battle myself.

When I unclothe and turn the light off, darkness floods the room at once as water - a sinking ship through a gap in the wooden side. Slumber comes surprisingly easily as well, my contradictory emotions towards my lover notwithstanding.

_… Steps on the crumpled grass blend with rustling of bowing flower crowns – yellow, white, ripe. The wind gently swings them in the serene vastness, scattering petals and hurling them under the invisible stranger's feet._

_A child prodigy..._

_Price paid for brilliance__…_

_Laughter rings under the chalice of a colorless welkin, echoes, swirls, flowing into my ears like a soothing stream. Someone leans over me __–__ no face, only indistinct contours, hidden in waves of refulgent light __–__ and whispers. _

_A miracle__…__ give them a miracle__…__ paths are shadows under your feet__…__ and worlds like the scattering of pebbles on a palm__…_

_The creature opens its eyes. They are filled with molten silver, no pupils, even as thin as slits, visible in the opalescent pools. _

_And long Eternity shall greet your bliss__…_

I wake up with a jolt. It is still dark, and in darkness the clock glows blurry green, showing a bit past midnight. The dream vanished, having left but a fading wake, and yet an unfamiliar voice, neither a woman's nor a man's, is ringing still – clearly and airily, as if the speaker is smiling.

_'You are special. Truly special.'_

* * *

"General?"

"Yes, Sephiroth?"

"I want to discuss the details of the upcoming operation."

Masumi takes his eyes off the stack of reports he is perusing and points to the chair, his gesture torpid. A coffee cup by his side suggests he hasn't slept well, if at all, although it is hard to say the same, judging solely by the look on his face. SOLDIER's stamina is the talk of the town. The thought elicits a light smirk, which I owe to Genesis – he introduced me to many interesting expressions he picked up during his studies of literature.

"Did you think about what Tseng had told you?"

"I did. I need a reconnaissance party to study the terrain before I make the final decision."

The blond SOLDIER sips from the mug, his face disappearing behind the thick haze of steam for a heartbeat. "You have my authorization. Do you have any requests?"

Genesis hasn't talked to me since yesterday, having uttered a hasty, almost shameful greeting during the morning exercises and not a word since. If I take him with me on this new mission, he will not be able to avoid the conversation.

"I would like to take Genesis along and Lieutenant Clark… perchance."

"Sure. I will only ask you to allow one of the new Seconds to accompany your party. He is a green newbie, arrived yesterday with barely any battle experience, besides SOLDIER training and a few insignificant missions on his personal file. You got the picture. I think it will do him good to stick with more experienced fighters. Actually, there are two of them, but I thought another one could work with Angeal." Masumi ignores my clearly displeased grimace, an attempt to tell him what I think of having new SOLDIERs with me on this mission. "Here is his file."

An artless face, framed in unruly hair of dull brown color, stares at me from the white piece of paper – a nondescript face, like thousands others on the Planet. A name is printed in black ink underneath – Kyle Allyson. The date of birth tells me he is a year and few months older than me. Nothing impressive so far.

"You will find him in the barracks. My adjutant will take care of the rest." Masumi concludes the conversation before I make a more eloquent try to voice out my doubts. There is nothing for me but to obey.

…The barracks is another place where soldiers may be found as frequently as at the bar. Initially, the premises served another purpose – a village school, my first guess is – but now the rooms are rearranged and swarming with Shin-Ra military personnel. The left wing is exclusively allotted for the SOLDIER elite needs although the members of the First Class, like myself and my friends, are residing elsewhere. One of the soldiers in helmets told me where I was supposed to look for this newly promoted Second, and soon I halt in front of the door, wherefrom laughter and cheerful conversation is heard. The moment I open it, sounds die out and puzzled glances rivet on me, one of which belongs to the brunette I am looking for. It appears I have interrupted some sort of a game.

"I am here on specific orders from general Masumi to look for Kyle Allyson."

"And who are you?" A rather unceremonious question is followed by a curt laughter. I pivot slowly, finding the speaker to be an insolent blond of about my height, but hardly a match for my abilities. Ignorant then. Humph.

"Sephiroth." Amused, I watch their expressions turn from relaxed to perplexed and tensed, and only the blond Third still does not understand anything, despite my repute coupled with unusual appearance.

"And who is Se…"

At this point Kyle loses his patience, being the first one to straighten and raise his hand in a formal salute. "Sir!" His friends follow shortly. "Forgive Joe, Sir, he wasn't paying attention."

"Kyle, follow me." I order coldly. "The rest of you are dismissed."

The brunette makes his way through the room in silence. At the threshold, he turns to address the blond, "You are a retard, Joe," then flashes a smile at me. "Forgive my language, Sir. I couldn't hold out. That guy never gets things done right. He failed his materia exam, was about to be expelled from the program, when…"

"Apologies accepted, SOLDIER." We start walking down the straight sunlit corridor of the former school. "But spare me the details."

I thought the words and tone of my voice would be enough to evade talking, but I was wrong. Although firstly he lagged a few steps behind, the new Second catches up with me, continuing the conversation as though we are no less than best friends. "You already know that my name is Kyle, but all my friends call me Kie." I remain silent, but his enthusiasm does not wan. "All of them will turn green with envy when they learn I received a mission with you. It is such an honor, Sir. So... what will I have to do?"

"How enlightening," I mumble scornfully. "The General said you were a promising SOLDIER, lacking experience. Therefore your objective is to follow our orders and watch what we do closely."

"Of course, Sir. I feel lucky to have you as an example of..."

"Sephiroth, Sir, the vehicle is ready." Masumi's adjutant, Maory, saves me from the idle talk, whose further development I would not take the liberty to predict. The General kept his word, having prepared everything for the mission. I exchange brief greetings with Lieutenant Clark and then notice him. Studying something on the ground with heightened interest, there stands Genesis, radiating aloofness and listlessness.

"Apologies," I interrupt Clark and approach my lover. "Genesis."

He doesn't stir. "Yes?"

"Why are you..."

"Go and do your duty, Sephiroth, instead of wasting time, trying to urge me to talk." Without looking at me, he gracefully slips into the armored vehicle.

"What's holding things up?" asks Clark.

"Nothing." I reply, skirting the car. "You are driving, Kyle."

The newly promoted Second enthusiastically climbs into the driver's seat, revs up the engine, and the car budges, rising clouds of dust as it leaves the village.

… We arrive upon the scene when the sun reaches its peak and hovers above the ground before tumbling over. A narrow path begins at the bottom of the hill and winds upwards, towards the indistinct contours of the fortress, which loom atop the tallest of hills, gradually disappearing in haze. Swelled with rain, the clouds hang low, promising a downpour later, hopefully, after we finish the mission.

During the two-hour ride, Genesis hasn't uttered a single word; it was the new SOLDIER stealing the spotlight. Of his incessant speech I remember only separate words, grateful to Lieutenant Clark's presence, who stoically endures the verbosity of our new elite member.

Once we leave the armored car, I line up my subordinates (my lover isn't my subordinate, however, he is under my command for now) to explain the details of the task ahead of us.

"This is a reconnaissance mission only, therefore we will avoid engaging in battle unless the skirmish is inevitable. Fighting monsters is not forbidden, however, if you encounter one, try to be discrete and use materia as your last resort only."

"What are we looking for, Sir?"

"Kyle and Genesis will find out whether the woods on the slopes are passable and whether there is a second path to the fortress." I want to give the redhead time to think about the conversation we will behaving later. "Lieutenant Clark will be watching the movement of the enemy with me. The meeting point is the cavern to your right. In case there is an emergency, each of you have a transmitter. If it rains, abort the mission and return to the meeting point. Does anyone have any questions?"

"How long will we be here, Sir?"

"Two days, Kyle. We will camp by the car if the weather allows. And, Genesis, watch over the new SOLDIER, so that trouble doesn't befall him."

Azure eyes meet mine for a heartbeat, then dash aloft, as if in fright. "I will."

With those words the redhead turns the corner, leaving me standing on the road, worried. Frowning, I try to understand the reason for this sudden change in the redhead's behavior, but have to admit to myself my guesses are, most likely, implausible. Clark helps me out of the unpleasant reverie. "Are we going, Sir, or what?"

...It doesn't take long for us to find a decent observation spot. Having ascended the sunlit hillock, we crawl through the small glade, inflamed with autumn orange and yellow hues, until we have a full view of the road below – the only road, so far, that we know leads to the gates. Those I see as well if I use the binoculars – two black, ironed within and, most likely, without leaves. Clark settles by my side so that he is able to see the same view through the opening in the bushes, keeping his head low at the same time.

"Are we planning a siege, Sir?"

I ignore the Lieutenant's inquisitive glance, shifting so that my numbing elbows rest against the soft moss. "I will be watching the gates, and the road is your responsibility."

...By the time it starts raining, I roughly know what I needed to – when the shifts change and supplies arrive. Hopefully, Genesis was as successful in studying the terrain as I was in observing Maetsuki's movement. Stretching torpid limbs, we descend the same way before the heavens open and we are soaked, a rather undesirable end for the uneventful day. The cave I chose as out meeting point turns out to be large and dry, and if luck smiles on us, we will be able to spend the night with relative comfort – warm sleeping bags can be considered luxurious compared to the damp ground of Yellow Marshes. Genesis already waits for us inside, sitting by the small fire, arms wrapped around his legs. Heeled boots are smirched with dirt, and my lover's fingers absently peel the dried crust, but otherwise, he seems intact.

"Where is Kyle?"

My lover's shoulders twitch, that being the only sign he heard me. "Somewhere around."

"Genesis..." I begin, but in time realize that Clark stands only a few steps behind me. "Were you able to find another path?"

"Not yet, the fort is well fortified. Unfortunately," running his hand through the mop of auburn hair, he drops it by his side, "Shin-Ra isn't the only one prepared for this war."

"Many of us believe in what Shin-Ra stands for," Clark chimes in.

"And they believe in their cause, too." Genesis' face softens, turning into one I've come to know so well and learned to treasure.

"_There are cemeteries that are lonely,  
__graves full of bones that do not make a sound,  
__the heart moving through a tunnel,  
__and in it darkness, darkness, darkness..._" By the time he finishes reciting, the intensity of the smoldering gaze he shares with me is almost unbearable.

My own heart skips a beat, and I do not know how this harmless talk would have turned out, despite my natural wariness, if not for the new SOLDIER. He runs into the cave and from the threshold screams, recovering his breath. "You have got to see it, Sir! All of you!"

His voice is filled with excitement rather than fear, so I turn unhurriedly, but the taut thread between me and my lover is torn nonetheless.

"What is it, Kyle? We are on duty."

"I understand, Sir!" He belatedly salutes, unsuccessfully trying to stifle his buoyancy. "But I found a mako cavern."

A mako cavern... Wutai is rumored to be rich in mako, and this is the prime reason for the Shin-Ra invasion. Knowing the enemy resources is no less crucial than a good strategy. I nod curtly, "Show us the way," to which Kyle's face wreathes in a smile.

The mako cavern is smaller than the one I found and it's entrance is hidden behind a small protuberance of flaky shale. If to glance over it, the aperture behind the jut will never catch one's attention. The floor slopes steeply once we step into the cool semi-darkness, but the corridor is not long, ending with a cavern, which to the eye is about a third of our shelter's size. It is unnaturally quiet inside, the only sound being a faint chime at the limit of the enhanced person's audibility. Lambent shadows lie on its shale walls and ceiling, whose source is a tall chalice in the middle – undoubtedly, a product of human meddling anyone will say, only I know better. The explanation to this interesting, natural phenomenon is what Shin-Ra scientists have been cudgeling their brains over for about a decade. Fascinating. I plunge both hands into the greenish liquid, watching it trickle through my gloved fingers, lucid, fresh and cold, like I have rarely hitherto seen. I begin feeling a familiar tingling of skin, indicating that my sharpened senses have discovered the source of power.

It is not the first time I've witnessed this rare phenomenon called a mako fountain, but it certainly is a new sight for Clark. He freezes just before reaching the stone chalice with his mouth half-opened, evidently mesmerized by the grace and harmony of well-disposed lights and shades, by the intricate play of hues – from dark-green to pure emerald, by the nearly impossible richness of colors.

"Wow! This is something, isn't it, Sir?" Kyle's voice echoes underneath the cavern's ceiling, appearing distorted.

"This is a mako fountain." The memories, the past, the knowledge, the... _everything_. What an unsuitable word for such a complex occurrence. "When I was a child, it used to be popular to call it spirit energy, but then a scientific term, _mako_, ousted the name."

"Mako? The same mako we came here for? The same mako we are going to... to drill?" Blood drains from Clark's face. "I have never see anything more beautiful in my entire life, Sir."

"Yes." I avert my face to look for Genesis, but the redhead is nowhere in sight. Frowning, I grope for the phone in the pocket of my leather coat. "Let's go."

* * *

**Interlude II. In the grip of doubts.**

Genesis breathed in fresh night air and impatiently twiddled his phone, an indication he was nervous. Another telltale sign was the straight line of lips, pressed together so tightly they would soon grow numb and blue,a sight the redhead wasn't sure Sephiroth would enjoy. Numerous thoughts flitted across his mind, each following less consoling than the former, when he received a text message – terse, straight to the point, as everything about his lover was. That is, if he knew Sephiroth well enough.

_Meet me at the mako cavern in an hour_.

Genesis watched the screen of his phone flash for the last time before turning dark. An hour was ten minutes from now. Heart painfully throbbing in his chest, the redhead leaned over the glistening puddle, which gathered in the small dent by the cavern, and peered into his quivering reflection.

_'How do I look?' _He asked himself, the answer following shortly._ 'Tired. Dispirited. Not nearly perfect enough for _him_.'_

That question was like a vial of poison drunk after goblets of ambrosia; in the state of bliss and emotional paradise, it was easy to be oblivious of mundane thoughts, but they always overtook him. Usually, it happened when he was alone on a mission, far away from the object of his dreams and desires; then the treacherous questions harried him stronger than ever. And then there was another poignant memory, looming in front of his eyes – a young woman with the Shin-Ra issued blade in her stomach – and it was almost too much.

The water was icy cold on his skin, as the redhead ladled two full handfuls and splashed his face, letting trickles run along his cheeks, drip onto his chest, roll underneath the black SOLDIER sweater. It helped to wash off the feeling of loathing he felt towards everything that evening. He hated the standard SOLDIER uniform. He hated being forced into the situation where he wasn't even offered a choice, which made him feel secondary and insignificant. He hated... Genesis rubbed his eyes and hastily applied water onto his hair in a couple of well-practiced gestures. In the white spot of the moon's reflection he now looked more lively, but still satisfactory at best. Stifling his disappointment and strange anxiety, the redhead finally tore his gaze away from the counterpart of his visage and entered the cave.

He was already there, waiting – the personification of punctuality and cold beauty, frozen in motion. Colder was only the air. The mako fountain Genesis had seen earlier separated them – a miracle he couldn't find words for, no matter how hard he sought. The scattering of iridescent droplets was wrapped in a shroud of virescent haze, and waves softly lapped against the stone, rhythmically rolling in and back and then repeating their senseless dance again. A greenish glow fell onto his lover's skin, imparting unhealthy pallor to his face and at the same time accentuating eerily unearthly beauty, as though cut from unbroken block of marble. Cat-slit eyes of the same effulgent color gleamed dangerously and expectantly, and suddenly Genesis was seeing a stranger, of whom he knew nothing. The person in front of him could not be eighteen years of age – rather, ageless.

"I already know what happened, therefore I felt it was useless for you to keep avoiding me." Straightforward, as a needle through his heart. Sephiroth took a few steps towards him – sharp, like the tone of his deep voice – and bent over the fountain, the movement throwing a cascade of opalescent silver over his shoulders and face. Before the expression etched on it was concealed completely, Genesis caught sight of an almost gentle smile. "Impressive, isn't it?"

Clouds of vapor escaped the redhead's lips when he breathed out, and air hitched in his throat as he inhaled, as if he were recovering from strangulation. Only his will kept him from bursting into tears.

_'How much do you think you know, Sephiroth? All of it? How smug you truly are... thinking that you do, enjoying yourself while I... I...'_

"I don't want to talk about my unfortunate mission." Genesis haughtily tossed his head and hid underneath a no less arrogant smirk. It always was a sure option. Never look into someone else's soul and never let anyone see the bottom to yours, for there might be a void in its stead. It was better like this, guessing blindly and wandering in the dark. "You are wasting your wind, asking nonsensical questions about events you admit to have known all along. I won't give you the satisfaction of hearing about my faults if that is the reason of your coming here."

"You have been avoiding me, Genesis, in case you didn't notice. I have to know..."

"_You_ have to know... It is always about what you want, isn't it?"

"Don't play upon words. I inquired..."

"If you were so curious, why didn't you come yesterday, when..." _'When I needed you most...' _" ...when I had just returned from that mission? Why did you ask everyone and forgot only one person – me?"

Astonishment. Sephiroth lifted his head, and the redhead saw it at once – pure-green, like the rare color of spring grass, astonishment. "You did not want to see me..."

"Oh, merciful Goddess... I can't..." Genesis shook his head, as though trying to fend off a haunting vision, and took a step backwards. Searching for support and seeing none, he took another step and yet another, until by groping his hands found the solid wet stones. "...If you truly wanted, truly cared, you would come..."

_'Angeal said I had a choice... does he hate me now? Do you... Sephiroth?'_

Breathing heavily, Genesis slumped by the wall, having no strength to care about refinement of his manners.

"You made it clear you didn't want to see me, and I reasoned it would be the best choice."

Genesis threw his head back, resting it against the wall. "You talk as though I am your superior and you are giving me a detailed report on your mission."

It was petty, but Genesis would snatch at every nugatory opportunity to blame Sephiroth for _something_, be it a real delinquency or just a figment of his imagination, because being blamed was more than the redhead could bear. If his lover could settle for this half-truth and let him win just once... No such luck.

"You never had a problem with the way I worded my feelings before." Pebbles crunching under the crude SOLDIER boot. A faint creak of leather, following an indistinct movement in semi-darkness. "What changed now?"

"I wasn't supposed to be on this mission. Was it your whim to have me tagging along?" The redhead couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"If so, what does it change between us?"

_'Everything. If I am just your indulgence...'_

The redhead let out a defeated sigh. There was a moment of almost absolute stillness, only droplets fell into the fountain, playing their eternal, bewitching melody... _drip-drop... drip-drop... drip-drop..._

"Why ever did I tell Angeal the truth?" He began acrimoniously. "I knew that he, the always honorable one, would not understand. But what if there is a tether stronger than any code of his, yet intangible all the same; what if it is inescapable, and the name of it is fate?"

_'What if she would die anyhow and I was simply the one to grant it to her?' _He added to himself and felt better.

"I am not Angeal." His lover stated without any discernible emotion in his voice. The creaking of leather was heard closer, followed by the rustle of material against stone, and something warm pressed to his side. "And I hardly believe in fate."

Genesis lowered his head, knowing what he would find. Sephiroth's shoulder.

"Why?" He asked vaguely, but somehow his lover understood what he wanted to hear.

"I do not care about what the war compels you to do as long as I have your loyalty and trust."

The redhead felt a biting sensation in his eyes, but could not let himself give vent to his confusing emotions. It was best to forget all of it had ever happened, but one question was still eating him up. The question he did not dare ask. So he inquired again, as a fool. "Why?"

"Because in these months we have been together I understood that we are too much alike."


	19. Chapter XVIII

_**A/N: **_Beta'ed by my wonderful beta, AlexJ69. Battle theme – Brand X Music, 'Spawn' and 'Painkiller'. I am in one of my _moods_, so don't expect normal stuff. XD

* * *

_"**...If a man in his arrogance desires to be a god, he can become a god. And so it was written in the Law that pride is a mortal sin." (A. Valentinov, "Spartacus' Angel").**_

_Chapter XVIII._

The conference room returns to life slowly. Riffle of papers being shuffled disturbs the stillness, creaks of chairs, whispers and coughs follow as those present begin to disperse. Faint and hesitant at first, the sounds swell when more SOLDIERs rise to leave the room, awoken from the numbness the gravity of the revelations inevitably brought upon everyone. As of now, there are nine members of Shin-Ra army, who know about the military operation, _the Lightning War_, which will commence tomorrow. Besides me, my friends and Lieutenant Clark, Masumi let a few new members of SOLDIER in on the plan, including Kyle, having placed them in command of our mobile elite unit.

"I don't like this whole idea," pushing his chair back, Angeal whispers so that only Genesis and I can hear him. "When we are in those tunnels, the enemy can easily kill everyone and none of us will be able to do a thing."

"Masumi's combat intelligence shows that the enemy is not aware that this part of the old tunnels even exists."

"How can you be sure, Seph?" Genesis is full of skepticism. "What Masumi has just told us obeys some very flabby logic."

"Flabby indeed. Masumi worked on the details of this operation by himself with the help of a few Turks and let me take part only in the design of the latest stages; when I fear that plans I have devised will make little difference, if at all. I mentioned it in my weekly report to Lazard, but to no avail."

"So you knew about this _L__ightning War_ all along. Why didn't you tell us?" I anticipate my lover to ask a similar question and now smirk at how predictable Genesis is at times.

"I was not allowed to."

And as I expected, the redhead doesn't take it well. "You still could have done something... but instead you kept it a secret..."

"You are being unfair, Genesis." Angeal interjects, and sparks of laughter flare up in steel-gray eyes. "Shin-Ra policy, remember?"

Genesis does not yield a point easily; by his lazy half-smirk I safely judge he has a few weighty arguments up his sleeve, though is never permitted to say them.

"Finally, some action!"A loud exclamation rings instead, and a familiar dark-haired SOLDIER plops himself into a chair on the opposite side of the long table. "Aren't you excited, guys? I mean... Sir..."

It seems Kyle duly remembers that despite him having a unit under his command, we still outrank him.

"It was about time some measures were taken," I agree in a terser, less jubilant way.

"In the barracks no one likes Lazard. We think he procrastinates on purpose."

"And what's his goal?" asks Angeal.

"He is Rufus' half-brother, remember?" Genesis savors the moment as his announcement evokes genuine astonishment. Everyone is looking at him now. "Now what can a half-brother of a known traitor possible try to achieve?"

"You have no proof, only rumors."

"Time is my best ally," my lover haughtily tosses his head, determined to ignore the voice of reason in the shape of his older friend.

"Can I talk to you, Sir?" This time it is Clark who interrupts our pointless conversation. He looks and sounds uneasy, eyes roving around the room and voice pitched up a tad. Something must have been bothering him if I can notice his constrained manners just by glancing over my shoulder.

"I do not see why not."

"Alone, Sir." He emphasizes the first word. Surprised, I follow him into the hallway, with the back of my head feeling numerous curious glances. Later on, I know Genesis will not hold out and ask me what the discourse was about. Curiosity killed a cat, I will reply as per usual. It was Gast's favorite saying, which he used every time I showed excessive inquisitiveness.

When the voices wafted from the conference room fade into silence, I beckon him to stop.

"I have a very bad feeling about this mission, Sir." Clark begins straight from the shoulder, yet obstinately has his eyes glued to the dented parquet floor. People, who are telling a lie or at least withholding the whole truth, usually have such a reaction. "It is one of those inexplicable feelings, but it has been haunting me ever since we saw that mako fountain. You said it yourself, Sir... that... it was a miracle of nature..."

Stammering, he finally falls silent, his features awry with an unfamiliar emotion. I scrutinize his face for other, clearer signs, but recognize none, which leaves me wondering what it is that might bring our plans to naught. His incoherent mumblings about mako make no sense.

When my lieutenant braces himself, his face no longer bears any traces of previous conflicting emotions. "I have a feeling I will not return from this mission. Don't say anything, Sir, just listen to me. You are the only one, whom I can trust and who will make it alive out of that hell no matter what will happen."Hastily, he rummages through his pockets until his hand finds a small, crumpled photograph. He then extends it to me. "This is Aki, my lover. She lives in Kalm, across the street from where I used to... the address is on the back side. I know you won't forget, Sir... if I ask..." Clark clears his throat, and this time I notice fear. "Write to her if I fall. Will you do me such a priceless favor?"

"What should I write?"

"Tell her that I fought bravely and died an honorable death even if it turns out to be a lie."

"You want me to lie..."I do not understand what he is so afraid of. "Why?"

A wan smile flits across his sickly pale lips. Clark wets them before speaking. "If I cower and don't fulfill my duty, I would rather she never knew."

That sounded like a reasonable request; like something Angeal would ask of me. Twiddling the picture in my gloved fingers, I give him my silent consent with another nod. It should not be that hard – to do a small favor for a man I learned to trust; and, besides, now I understand better why people make these irrational, emotional decisions. Especially after what occurred between me and Genesis in a mako cavern and two days ago.

"Thank you." Simple. Not pretentious or reeking of falsehood, like gratitude I was accustomed to hearing. "I knew I could count on you."

"If you are afraid of something, you should..."

"No, I am not. It was just an omen." Suddenly Clark's voice gains strength; he straightens, all proud anew, and his hand sharply flies up to the temple and falls, ending the farewell salute. "I was going to marry her, y'know... Sir."

Then he turns around and, like a perfectly assembled mechanism, walks into darkness, the echo of his footfall dashing between barren walls until silence smothers the last sounds.

* * *

_Two days ago…_

When Genesis moves, his gait is always airy; a tad impetuous, but graceful above all else. It is hard not to look at him, at least furtively and from time to time. When Genesis moves on stage, it is hard not to be fascinated; his natural grace becomes refined, each movement – carefully chosen, and he himself is changed, lit up from within although the room he is performing in is dark and empty.

After we returned from the mission to Maetsuki's fortress, two days had passed before the redhead warmed up to both of us, including Angeal. As a sign of reconciliation, he invited us to the... derelict house on the outskirts of the village, claiming he was inspired.

Sitting on a creaking, old chair in a room where dust is afloat and seen even in waning twilight, I am compelled to wonder what exactly was it that Genesis had found _inspirational_.

"If you have courage," is heard from the improvised stage.

"If you have courage,

If you have courage in your heart,

Raise your sword against me."

The words are spoken with the unforgettable melodic tinge, and it is not the first time when I realize that had it been anyone else saying those words, they would not sound or mean the same. Genesis' thin figure is clearly visible in semi-darkness, black and golden against thickening gray, mesmerizing from the tip of his heeled boots to the last strand of auburn hair. A small simper on his lips is strangely befitting to his whole image. I lean back in the chair, eyes half-closed, and pull one glove away from my hand, move my bare fingers.

"If you have faith," the redhead tosses his head, baring the row of white teeth in a dazzling smile.

"If you have faith,

If you have faith in your heart,

Don't let me taint it."

"What is it, Genesis?" Angeal addresses my lover during a convenient pause between his recitations. Slight blush showing through his porcelain skin, Genesis pivots on his heels, which confirms my earlier guess that he has written this strange passage himself.

"Oh, it's nothing, just some abstract from a new play I found on the website."

"When did you manage to memorize it? Not on an important mission, I hope."

Genesis gifts his childhood friend with a derisive smile. "You are a menace to art, Angeal. Will you be silent, ever?"

Angeal awkwardly shifts in his chair, casting a pleading glance at me, which I ignore. He is not getting any help from me.

"If you have pity,

If you have pity,

If you have pity in your heart," my lover pauses again – this time for a more dramatic effect. "Don't waste it on me."

To humor the redhead is as easy as it is to admire him. Genesis has quite a few idiosyncrasies, one of which includes reciting poetry anytime and anywhere. My lover claims he finds a proper line for each situation, and often times I am more than eager to take his word for it so that we won't engage in a long and one-sided discussion about poetry. I can't say I never enjoy it, for I doubtlessly do, only not as often as he.

"If you have love,

If you have love,

If you have love in your heart..."

Genesis suddenly swallows the words, his gaze stumbling upon mine half-way through the dusty room; stumbling indeed, for the sensation is akin to hitting a tangible wall. He freezes, for the second time during this short evening fighting embarrassment and stubbornly creeping over his cheeks blush; unsuccessful, however, he breaks the eye contact and leaps off the stage.

"Why didn't you finish?" Suspecting nothing, Angeal asks without mercy.

"I haven't come up with a proper ending yet," Genesis mumbles in response, looking rather pitiful.

"So it was your creation all along! I knew it."

Our old friend says something else, but we are not listening. It feels like going deaf to all sounds besides my own heartbeat and blind to all images but one – my lover's vibrant, dark eyes. And I realize there and then.

Could it be that I... I am in love with Genesis?

The thought is stunning, because it is unexpected and at the same time quite trivial. With all my feelings towards him, I never concluded it to be… something quite as personal as love_._ Not until now.

My mind, barren of thoughts, seeks a solution, but is unusually incapable of finding any. Should I tell Genesis…

"I remembered I needed to complete a small assignment Shin-Ra instructed me to," I rise and close the flaps of my coat. "I was requested to give the SOLDIERs additional training."

"Leaving already?" Genesis is clearly frustrated and I have to avert my face to hide a smile. Now to see if Angeal falls for my attempt at manipulation...

"Who did you have to train?"

"That new Second Class, Kyle Allyson. He was on a mission with us a few days ago. His performance wasn't all that bad, but…"

Angeal smiles, "You owe me one now. I'll do it for you because I know you don't like newbies, but we all used to be green a few years ago."

"Not Sephiroth. You're wasting your breath, Angeal. He'll never understand how it feels to be a callow SOLDIER."

After Angeal leaves, for a while we sit in silence. I want to say something, but can hardly find any suitable words to express myself. They never were the strength of mine.

Then, when the pause becomes too awkward, Genesis airily remarks. "You did it on purpose, didn't you? Sent Angeal away, I mean. You knew he loved teaching green recruits and wouldn't pass up a chance to practice that skill of his. I won't be surprised if he one day ends up having a protégé."

"Can't hide anything from you, can I?" I reply with a tilt of my head. I am glad the conversation is meaningless. Just spending time with my lover alone is enough to satisfy me. Even if I decide against confessing my feelings.

"You are right. Angeal is sometimes the clueless one, yet…"

"Is it because your parents often lied to you?"

Unwittingly, Genesis curls an auburn lock around his index finger. His eyes are riveted on something in the distance, purposefully so, and I already know he will not give me an answer. It is hard to tell the reason of his reluctance; perhaps, it is somehow connected to our conversation at the mako cavern.

"Why did you send him away? He'll find out about that little fallacy of yours soon enough. I am sure you didn't have any assignments for this evening."

"He won't. Masumi chose Kyle for a reason. He never misses an opportunity to train with a First Class SOLDIER."

"You have foreseen every eventuality, yet it still doesn't explain why you resorted to such a trick."

I chuckle, lowering my head so that my intent stare doesn't abash the redhead. "You overcomplicate matters, Genesis. My reason is simple. I… I wanted to spend time with you alone. I am afraid with the upcoming operation it is the last opportunity I will have in a long time."

"It's not the whole truth. You don't have eloquence enough to deceive me."_How did he…_

I stretch my legs onto the empty chair to win time and collect my thoughts. "When you were on that stage, I realized something."Then I fall silent. I understand I am not ready to say I love him. "But then…"

Genesis' hand finds mine. He does not insist."You are like a pianist, playing on the instrument of my soul; from time to time you strike the wrong key, and then the melody sounds wrong. Yet, strangely enough, I don't want you to stop playing… You haven't answered the question I asked you in the mako cavern. Do you believe in fate?"

And here I thought the redhead could not possibly surprise me more this evening. "I hold that there are certain laws. Of some laws we know little, others we studied rather well. How the interaction between us and the Planet occurs, for example. And some laws undoubtedly exist, only we have not discovered them."I fold my arms over my chest. "I am not inclined to believe in any set constants. I believe in purpose – in a destiny – we can fulfill, but there always is a choice to deviate from that path."

He shakes his head, defeated,"I should have expected you would say something like this. You are such a _romantic_, Seph."

"It was not a requirement to join the SOLDIER program."

And then everything suddenly loses its meaning, pretenses fall as I reach out to cup his chin and bring our lips together. Breaths mingle in cold air, tongues greedily entwine. I don't intend to be gentle, kissing Genesis, my passion crushing. He acknowledges my caresses with a faint moan, playfully biting at his flushed lower lip when I let go. Then he takes the initiative, hands wandering along my hips and – warm, fragile – curling around my neck. I can feel the whole weight of the redhead's lean body when he climbs onto my lap; appreciate every curve. The kiss engrosses us completely; we have kissed for so many a night, but I am not bored of Genesis' lips exploring mine. Nor am I tired of seeing his reaction to my touch or hear the sounds escaping his lips as he is driven closer and closer to the edge of his passion. My hand, stroking his intimate parts, or his – unbuckling my coat, our locked mouths, the arch of his back - all of it is natural to me now, like breathing or fighting.

Then why…

I never cowered before an enemy – even the first time I killed, I overcame fear and completed my mission. But there and then I retreated for the first time in eighteen years of my life, and the reason for it wasn't even an enemy.

* * *

_Present day…_

We are retreating.

I did not understand what happened, nor was it required of me. It happened so fast: one moment we were moving through the tunnels, and the next - walls caved in, white lightning cut through the night, and with a deafening uproar the ground swelled up, spurted every which way; clods of dirt, bodies, fragments of stones – the explosion picked up and strewed them about a small square by the main castle's entrance.

I survived the impact only due to enhancements I underwent in the labs. And yet…

We are retreating.

At first, the operation went as planned. Masumi threw the whole elite unit into battle, having divided it into five detachments – ten SOLDIERs in each, backed up by regular Shin-Ra troops. We boarded the helicopters, and flew into the night, a thin chain of blinking lights on a par with stars only. The night happened to be hazy and cold, providing a perfect distraction and concealment. The ground gradually changed underneath, as if slipping into a dream, and the steady rumbling of rotating airscrews soothed. I was prepared, and had nothing to worry over.

The landing went off seamlessly as well, like during a regular training. Crawling through the terrain we had previously studied, our units reached the separation point and dispersed unnoticed. The knowledge of their patrols schedules proved to be quite useful. Mine and Clark's unit entered the underground tunnel through the northern branch. It was a straight, dry corridor with a dust-covered floor and dome-like ceiling. The dark hues of stones betrayed its age – a few centuries old, at least; tree roots showed through carefully adjusted stones, reaffirming my earlier guess that the tunnel itself was laid very close to the surface. We used flashlights to illumine our way and exchanged quiet remarks rarely, leaving only the sound of hurried footfall echoing behind.

Then there was an explosion, the swish of night air in my ears; the blur of colors. I walked in the middle of my unit, and it saved my life. Those who walked right into the fiery trap, blazed up like torches. The ceiling opened up, and stones mixed with bodies, the wave spilled out into the square, and I – as a part of it.

It was painful to land. The blast hurled me into the furthest corner of the square. Fighting a surge of debility, I scrambled to my feet, stunned; searched for Masamune. By the time I found my faithful sword and recovered enough so that I could stand without my knees shaking, we were already retreating. The Wutai awaited us and used our confusion to their full advantage. Wasting no time, warriors in regular infantry uniforms hurried towards the fuming hole, finishing off the wounded and shooting the recovering soldiers. I saw Lieutenant Clark amidst the scuffle, shouting something, waving his hand and firing his rifle at the advancing enemy. It was good to know that he survived, but it was already determined that under the pressure of Maetsuki's forces we would have to fall back.

The reality snaps around me – the trembling ground, the skies, painted ominous red from three other explosions, the raging fire, the mayhem…

We are retreating.

Yet, I know there is still time to turn the battle in our favor. Straightening, I brush a stray, dirty lock off my face, clench the handle of Masamune, and resolutely take a step forward.

_Give them a miracle…_

The sudden thought is nothing but a conjuncture of words in my head; nothing more than a swing of Masamune, or bluish sparks, falling from its long blade as it hits an iron breastplate. The thought is faster than a swish of a bullet and burns stronger than a spurt of blood out of the cut veins. Be it Clark's omen, in which I rationally don't believe, to blame, or a simple human error, the results are unpredictable and devastating.

It is my turn now.

Activating the master ice materia, I take a running jump at the rabble of debris, leap over it; my feet touch the ground in the middle of the Wutai masses when the last block of ice shatters into myriads of ringing shards. Those who are alive, remain so until a few heartbeats later a cold, thwart flash of Masamune overtakes them. The air swishes, a thin crescent tears through armor and flesh, trail of blood and iron shards following belatedly. The last body is still standing, as if suspended from invisible puppeteer's strings, but I am already aloft, the swing of Masamune outstripping my landing.

It takes me about a minute to eliminate the ambush.

"Thank you, Sir." When the last Wutai falls, Clark emerges from the hole with barely a dozen of Shin-Ra infantrymen and only one SOLDIER. He is calm and stoic, and in what he says and does, there remains no trace of vacillations we talked about yesterday. "Do you think others suffered the same lot we did?"

I gesture towards the sky, that silent witness of so many battles, now crowned with a dark-red glow. "I am afraid so."

"Where does it leave us?"

"We have our orders," I return, pursing my lips. "Only now we are on our own."

One by one, the survivors clamber the debris and group by my lieutenant. While they do, I use a brief respite to look round. I don't know whether others made it this far – of Genesis and Angeal I forbid myself to think now – but my unit ended up where it was supposed to if Masumi hadn't erred. A few dozens of feet from where we were thrown out by the explosion, begins a long staircase, on both sides planted with trees and surrounded with Leviathan statues. The small square is strewn with fountains and similar statues of black granite; almost none of them are intact, even the middle one, which depicts the creature proudly standing on its curled tale with its leathery wings spread afar. In the stream of falling moonlight it seems alive.

And, swinging in the wind, brightly glow the multi-colored orbs of Wutai street lights.

"Let's search for survivors first, Sir." Clark suggests. After a moment of contemplation, I agree.

Our depleted detachment easily maneuvers between the statues and soon enough we hear the sounds of distant battles. They guide us more accurately than any tracking device. The scenery changes as well when the square gradually becomes the labyrinth of narrow, winding streets, similar to those I've seen at Fort Tamblin. We encounter the Wutai, only most of the time they are stray groups of reinforcements. Batting them is effortless.

It begins to dawn when we, having lost all hope, find Kyle Allyson in the eastern part of the fortress. Out of his unit, only three others survived; although shaken and scared, they seem intact and ready to battle.

"Have you seen anyone else?" I ask, careful with my expression and voice so that they do not betray my worry over Genesis and Angeal.

"No, S-sir," replies Kyle. "I haven't seen anyone, just them. We were ambushed, and our signaler died."

He points to the left. Thereat, a few SOLDIERs lie with their arms spread, one atop the other. I bend over the heap mechanically, check for pulse – none.

"Very well. We will proceed further until we find the General."

The fortress lives its own life even in such an early hour. Somewhere in the labyrinth of the streets, Shin-Ra troops are still fighting; bleeding and resisting desperately, we still stand firm. The chill of approaching dawn is not an obstacle; nor is the destroyed terrain or frequent traps.

We stumble upon the General accidentally. At first, I notice a large group of elite Wutai warriors gathered in a street. A stone wall shields us, and it is hard to detect our small detachment in the dusty light. I halt, abruptly throwing my arm upwards, fingers spread wide apart. Ready to clench them, I wait for a suitable moment to give a common signal for a surprise attack when suddenly the crowd of warriors parts and I see the General.

Masumi kneels on the ground, disarmed and humiliated. His long hair, usually gathered in a ponytail, hangs like a bloody curtain around his face. Maetsuki towers above his stooping figure, one of his swords raised for a fatal strike. Before any of us make a single move, the silver lightning falls and the general's head rolls on the ground, jumping on bumps. Kneeling, the body in the SOLDIER uniform freezes for a moment and then slowly, as if reluctantly, tumbles over.

Astonished, I try to grasp why Maetsuki killed the General when he surrendered; he must have been rather desperate.

"This is outrageous," Kyle whispers, eyes fixed on the street ahead.

"The General is dead, SOLDIER. There is nothing we can do now." I pause before announcing my decision. "Signal the retreat, Lieutenant."

Clark accedes to the new orders, however, the young Second Class does not. "With all due respect, Sir, I am going. Those bastards have just killed one of our own. They won't get away with it so easily!"

"I am afraid, for now they will."

"But why, Sir…"

"Because if we act now, we will die. We aren't just outnumbered; we no longer have a commander."

Explaining something so obvious in a situation like this aggravates. We came too late. The general is dead, the army is beheaded, scattered and retreating, and the situation is beyond my ability to salvage. This battle was supposed to change everything, and it appears it will – only in a way neither Masumi, nor Lazard could predict.

The maze of streets swallows us again, familiar turns and buildings flashing before my eyes. We fight our way forward much faster, now that I memorized the direction, and I am almost certain we will escape the enormous trap of Maetsuki's fortress when luck betrays us yet again.

The large group of Wutai overtakes us a few blocks away from the gate. The leader is not with them, and it is the only advantage I have. I am fairly certain I will make it out alive in any case, but if there exists a chance to save my detachment, I will take it.

The exchange of fire breaks out at once. The Wutai attempt to surround us and wedge in-between two parts of my unit. Then someone yells. "Monsters!"

I did wonder when they would show up.

"Maintain order!" Sharply escapes my lips into the heavy, full of screams air. Order is crucial; if we lose the formation, the battle is as good as lost as well.

I attempt to turn my detachment around, but the enemy warriors poured out from two abutting streets at the same time. Having struck a Wutai a swinging blow, I push off the falling body, rising in the air to disengage from the skirmish. I succeed. A large part of the Wutai forces follows me, including monsters, when I land onto curved roof of a low building. Clark shoots a lancer, turning around to find a new opponent and notices me. A smart soldier, he understands the purpose of my maneuver at once.

"We will try to force our way to the gates!" My Lieutenant shouts down the stomping of the Wutai beasts.

"I will hold them for as long as I can," adds Kyle. Gripping his sword with two hands, he salutes me and plunges it into the chest of a smaller monster.

I brusquely nod and turn towards the heart of the fortress once again. The Wutai shall remember this night for a long time.

At first, I jump from a roof to a roof to lure the enemy as far away from the rest of my unit as possible. When we are far enough, I find a decent clearing and leap off. The lancers surround me at once, keeping distance from the deadly length of my Masamune. Overconfident or too honorable, either of which is foolishness, the Wutai first send a lone warrior. He is doubtlessly enhanced, for he manages to parry my first thrust. Swords cross and grind. We circle each other until I find a weakness in his defense. One step to the left with the sharp turn of my body add power to my swing, and the long blade cuts off the warrior's head.

The Wutai no longer attempt to fight me one on one. Certain of their victory, they press with all their might; an endless sea of human bodies rolls in, and I am compelled to fall back, unable to keep turning around, watching where I step not to trip over the shuddering bodies, and deflecting their attacks at the same time.

The battle stops for a moment again when they lose two dozen or so of their lancers and swordsmen, giving me a short break. Breathing heavily, I turn my head to the right, then to the left, but wherever I look, there is only the enemy, and I am cornered, a wall behind me baring the only way for escape. The Wutai are large in number, too large even for me, and it seems the only way out of here is death or surrender.

Neither is an option for me.

I can see them tasting my defeat – triumphantly shining eyes, weapons rapaciously glistening in the first rays of rising sun, and monsters baring their teeth. And the welkin, dirty-gray, smirched with thick tails of smoke and lurid reflections of fires, mockingly hangs above as far as my gaze reaches.

I am _not_ going to fall.

Involuntarily my shoulders shake with laughter. _Give them a miracle… a miracle of death, fear, and ash… it is what you have been born for and what you had done so well, Sephiroth._

Laughter… My? Foreign?

_You are special. Truly special._

I position my long sword in front of my face, both palms clutching the handle. Ghostly-green fog curls around the blade, swirling upwards, scattering flaps of my coat and then my hair. All my rage, all my pain is in this strike, and from the power I gathered – tightened in a knot, ready to be unleashed –the blade slightly vibrates. Then, in the same way, holding the handle with two hands, I bring Masamune down.

"Shoot him!"

Too late. The cocoon, which now cloaks me, reflects bullets. The needle-thin tip of Masamune plunges into the ground, sending a web of small cracks through the scorched, sintered clay, and the pillar of glow bursts in crescents of light. They fly above the ground, tearing through the first rows of advancing Wutai, cleaving mailed bodies, scattering the remains, and a long, desperate cry sweeps over the square in its urge to reach the skies. Blood, sprinkling onto the stones, lavishly sputtering from torn off limbs and severed heads, paints macabre patterns on the burnt ground. The first rows of Wutai are scattered, the formation – damaged, but more hurry to take their place. The strongest manage to parry or deflect the illusion blades, and at that, using my power reserves enervates me still.

The handle of Masamune turns hot in my hands. Above me, the green hurricane scatters friable clouds, shedding rain of sparks, like fiery tears. Wherever they fall, stones, flesh, and steel begins to melt, yet not even my power can stop the Wutai. They charge blindly, oblivious of the dead, jumping over the wounded and mutilated, urged by one thought of extinguishing the flames of my existence.

Is this how it feels to defend my own life? If not for the strain, which makes it out of place, I would have felt endless surprise.

And then there is Genesis. He might be somewhere in the burning city, wounded and helpless, but the thought cannot linger. Not now.

A distorted face flashes before my eyes, a gun-lance misses me by a few inches, and I repost blindly, thrusting Masamune into the soldier's chest. Green flames spread onto the enemy's body, swallowing it whole, and, writhing, he screams.

_Draw deeper, from your core, draw with both palms…_

I stagger, biting my lip not to fall, not to scream. Blood hammers in my temples, threatening to drown all other sounds.

… palms, on which…

_Worlds like the scattering of pebbles…_

The pain of breaking my limits for the first time equates to the poignant sensation of having my bones crushed.

Deeper…

Pale-green mist flares up a refulgent emerald. Crisscross flits Masamune, and two scythes detach from its long blade, leaving wide swaths of destruction in their wake. Stones, firmly embedded into the roadway, fly up and asunder, only to become a prey for the following wall of flames. Everything writhes and burns – even that, which isn't supposed to. When the fire subsides, there is not a single Wutai left standing – the pavement is strewed with burnt corpses and ash. Ash is in the air, and huge flakes are circling down and crumbling, crumbling, crumbling…

And then falls the unnatural quiet. Unwonted to my ears after hours of cacophony, it weaves around the smoking ruins and crawls into dents and hollows. I won. Thereupon I fall to my knees, trembling, defenseless. Masamune clangs on the stones by my side. If more Wutai show up, they will imprison me with bare hands, for I have wasted too much of my energy reserves not even mako can help me recuperate fast.

How many Wutai were sent against me? A few hundred, no less. I know I wanted to have a victory, but never expected… all of them… at once...

Sometimes I see dreams about my childhood, some – vivid and painful, others – vague, as if wrapped in thick haze, but never does my memory reach deeper than the surface. Never in that endless well do I see an answer.

How could it be that I… I was able to…

I stare at my gloved palms for a long moment before dropping them, my gaze slowly traveling further until it reaches a line, where the black wall blends with the dirty-gray sky. Then I look down again. And a worm of doubt is born inside me, too weak to develop into any solid conclusion, but poignant and bothering me nonetheless. I have to rise, search for survivors and Genesis, or join my units in the overall retreat, but instead I cannot force myself to tear my gaze away from my hands, as though on the black leather there is an answer…

Am I… am I even human? And if not –then _who_ am I?

* * *

…_"Professor Gast, why do people have two legs and two arms? Like a rectangle has width and length also in pairs?"_

_He smiles, the short, dark-haired man with kind eyes. Yet, it doesn't set my mind at rest – I always wanted answers. Always. The desire was even stronger when I wasn't given any._

"_Why does __a Lummer-Brodhun cube__ need two prisms?__"_

_Gast chuckles. "Hojo, are you certain you didn't enhance the boy's curiosity?"_

_Hojo is silent. He never partakes in our conversations._

"_Professor Gast, why do I have silver hair? You all have brown; I've seen black and blond, but never silver."_

_This time I manage to get his attention. Having torn himself away from the work, he gives me a piercing look from underneath the bushy eyebrows. He is sad for some reason._

_"Go back to your training, Sephiroth. Some questions are better left unanswered."_

_Frustrated, I swing my katana, listening to the blade's curt, cold song. "Why?"_

_"When you don't know some things, you can pretend they are the way you want them to be and dream, and aspire to fulfill those dreams. Then you realize something, and it cannot be unlearned. Truth is death, Sephiroth; death of that old part of you, and it is never a good thing."_

_"What are you talking about, Professor?"_

_Gast's gaze from sad turns to vacant. He flinches and looks at me as though he has just noticed my presence. "You are too young to see it now, but yours is a special destiny, and one day you will understand what it is."_

…_Professor Gast left two weeks later to be never heard of again. I was six then and artlessly thought that it was truth that had killed him._

_At least, it was better than thinking I was betrayed..._

* * *

**Interlude III. The general is dead. Long live the general!**

The conference room was waking slowly. At first, it was the rustle of paper, being awkwardly crumpled in sweaty hands; then someone irresolutely coughed and heads of six men present there turned towards that unintentional noisemaker. He was a short, stout man with thinning dark hair and dull eyes.

"Would you please, repeat what you had just said, Veld?"

The Turk, who stood at the opposite end of the table, nodded. "General Masumi is dead, Mr. President, and so is the majority of the SOLDIER elite. They were ambushed during a very important operation. Very few were captured or made out of that hell alive."

Not a man to be easily baffled or thrown off balance, President Shin-Ra paled nonetheless. "Is there any consoling news at all?"

"Three SOLDIER First Class, the core of the elite, survived. Their names are Sephiroth, Genesis Rhapsodos and Angeal Hewley."

"I told you, Mister President, that the investment you made into Project S will pay off." A new interlocutor joined the conversation. He was the only man wearing a white smock among the stooping snowdrifts in black suits. "I suggest you make him the general in that dead SOLDIER's place."

"But he got carried away - battle rage. What say you, Hojo?"

"An atypical reaction, but not impossible."The scientist's voice screeched, like a quill on paper. "Any casualties?"

"Around three hundred Wutai with one strike."The head Turk surveyed the room before announcing more grave news. "Among them were ten Shin-Ra soldiers caught up in the storm. He killed his own."

"I cannot trust his abilities after this incident. Then there is a question of his age. He is too young and inexperienced; on top of it there exists the possibility he would break."

"I did not create him a milksop, Mister President. He is a very skilled and powerful warrior with but a few to match him and none to surpass. And his intelligence is far superior to those who were enhanced later on. He is _the _original, after all." The last words were spoken with unconcealed pride. "Everyone else was created after his image."

"What about Hollander's projects?" President Shin-Ra pondered, touching his chin, which showed a great possibility to become double in few years. "They showed great potential as well…"

"Genesis Rhapsodos is a failure. And Hewley… if there is someone too soft to do the job, it's Gillian's son. You should know that better than anyone."Hojo condescendingly smirked and, suddenly disinterested in the conversation, returned to the papers he was perusing.

Leaden silence shrouded the room once more. President Shin-Ra faced a hard decision, but in the light of the latest developments on the Wutai front, he had no choice but to listen to his chief scientist's advice. He could not possibly know that by the same decision he dreamt to save his company with, he was signing its death sentence.

"All right, make him the general. Unofficially. No ceremony, no public title awards, no media until he achieves his first significant victory, proving himself worthy. And you'd better be right, Hojo, because the future of Shin-Ra corporation depends on his abilities. If he fails… we will be crushed." Arthur Shin-Ra leapt up, losing his temper. "This means no additional mako, no victory. This means the end!"

Hojo didn't even flinch.

Arthur Shin-Ra fumed of patriotism for another ten minutes or so; the rest of the Directors stoically listened to his barrage of words. When the President calmed down, he addressed the head of the Turks again.

"Anything else, Veld, I should know about my employees' outrageous incompetence?"

"Yes, Mister President. Tseng believes – and he made a formal report on it – that this unfortunate failure was caused by yet another treachery."


	20. Chapter XIX

_**A/N: **_So my first chapter this year… (delayed, as well... sighs). Special thanks to my wonderful beta, AlexJ69! She is my hero today, for she worked on my story despite her personal troubles. :) And to Cookiecat… she knows for what scene. XD

* * *

_Chapter XIX._

_It is said that when a child sees his reflection in the mirror for the first time, he denies it. So used to seeing his body in fragments, small arms and legs separately, he cannot grasp his image as a whole. The result is a conflict in his mind, an aggressive tension between the reflection and the subject, to resolve which the child has to identify with his image and thus form an Ego. _

_Or so it is said. _

_I was always different. Even after I saw my reflection in the mirror, the tension between it and the subject – fragmented on a deeper level – did not cease to exist. The Ego was never formed as the unbroken whole. Moreover, the crack between who I truly was and what I saw only grew, the question becoming a life-lasting, and at times, all-consuming obsession. I would spend hours, then days continuously searching for a few answers, feeling their absence more acutely when certain events recurred; and every time emotions would subside, leaving but a subconscious longing. It guided and influenced me in a way even I found mysterious._

_The thirst to identify myself and find where it was that I truly belonged._

* * *

The voice in the phone had long ago turned into beeps, but I still keep the device pressed to my ear, attempting to understand how I am to react to the news Lazard has spoken of in such a detached, official manner. Brief panic slowly sinks in, filling the strange emptiness as once again I realize my life has changed in a blink of an eye.

"Yes, I understand,' I said not so long ago, but neither the terseness, nor the tone reflected what I felt when faced by the fact that with Masumi's death it will be my duty to lead the Shin-Ra army in the Wutai war.

I have imagined this moment often, even if not in details, but never thought the news would be delivered immediately after we had suffered a major loss. That it would once be my responsibility I knew, but never believed it could happen so soon and… what did I hope for? Hope is such vanity.

A gust of wind throws a handful of weightless snowflakes at the transparent glass shield, and I almost feel them, cold and wet, tangling in my hair. My reflection blurs and with it disappears the split and the haunting emptiness.

"What happened, Sir?" Inquires Lieutenant Clark.

Mechanically, I correct him, my voice but a whisper. "General."

The word seems a slip of the tongue, a careless mistake, and for a moment I expect my lieutenant to laugh.

"What about him? He died honorably…"

Turning away from the window, I repeat steadier, "From now on, _I_ will be addressed as General."

"I did not… wait, they made you the General. When... I mean… congratulations, General Sephiroth…it is unexpected, to say the least…"

"My position is unofficial for now." I approach my desk and thoughtlessly arrange the stack of papers, which needed not be arranged. "Therefore any involvement of the media is undesirable. Not that I would be delighted to deal with them anyhow, but…"

"Given our crushing defeat, it is even less desirable. I understand. What will we say?"

"Call an urgent meeting. Lazard and Veld had been sent to debrief us and conduct an investigation. Somehow Maetsuki was privy to the details of our operation."

"Do you… suspect anyone of treason, General?"

"Perhaps." I reply with the same certainty I would say that the moon is made of cheese.

… We gather in the conference room an hour later. There is so little of the Shin-Ra soon-to-be-famous elite left that my heart wrings with regret at the sight of empty seats. I wish I could have done something to prevent the disaster, but it wasn't in anyone's power, not even the eighteen-year-old SOLDIER by the name of Sephiroth wielded it.

Or was that an excuse I came up with not to feel guilt?

At least, the moment I enter, I notice Genesis and Angeal, who – like me – were able to escape the Wutai fortress unharmed.

"It is in this solemn hour that we are brought together again, the hour that demands resolve to make harsh decisions." Veld begins. "The President gives his deep condolences for the loss of our elite. It may take us months, if not years, to fully recover from this setback. Arthur Shin-Ra was aware of the risk Masumi was taking and personally approved the commencement of the operation. The calamity once again occurred due to the unforeseen influence of the external circumstances, which demand a thorough investigation. Lazard?"

The Director, dressed in his usual light-blue suit, rises and with dignity assumes the unpleasant responsibility of explaining the details of the General's death.

"Before Masumi died, his signaler was able to send us a short transmission of his conversation with the enemy. There Maestsuki, also known as the First Lance of Wutai, admitted to have received unexpected help from someone in the Shin-Ra army. Tseng's preliminary report suggested that the traitor was tied with the recent activities of Rufus Shin-Ra, however, no evidence has been found. Therefore anyone in this room, including me, is a potential suspect."

"What about the situation on the battlefield?"

"A good question, Angeal, and I will answer it in due time. Meanwhile, no one is allowed to leave this base unless given permission from the President himself. A curfew will come into effect as of today and until the traitor is found, which he will be, I can assure you. But before Veld begins questioning you, there is a separate matter that should be addressed." Lazard's gaze finds me. "After Masumi died, by a unanimous decision of the Board of Directors, Sephiroth was raised to the rank of army general. Though unexpected, the decision was made, and the emergency powers are to be conferred on him as of this moment. The army will be notified shortly, but the President has made it clear that he would prefer the news to be kept from the media for as long as possible. Until a victory is achieved, to be exact. This means," light-blue eyes slide along the faces of those present in the room, "that everyone here is obligated to render him all feasible assistance. Yes, Kyle?"

"What will happen to the personal unit General Sephiroth used to command?"

"All units, which used to be under the command of now dead SOLDIERs, will be joined and distributed as the General sees fit. The President is giving Sephiroth unquestionable authority over the battlefield. Does anyone have any objections?"

Silence. Everyone in the room is looking at me, but I obstinately keep my stare riveted on Lazard's face, forgetting even to blink. Being given the rank of General was not so much onerous as unexpected. I am telling myself that, and maybe soon I will believe in it strongly enough to ignore the truth.

"Sephiroth, can I have a word with you in private after the questioning?" Lazard steps down and slides into a seat by my side. "Since the President appointed you the General, I think he doesn't deem you a traitor. It means I can share a bit of evidence with you that points to the involvement of Rufus Shin-Ra."

"How big is the threat?"

"I wish I could give you an answer. But it is definitely his style. That sneaky bastard…"

I shrug. At least, the heads of the company have savvy enough to understand that I wouldn't spy for the Wutai. "I believe it is too early to draw any conclusions."

And if the Director thinks I will share my personal misgivings so easily, he is also wrong.

After Lazard's _moving_ speech, Veld starts debriefing everyone separately. As the General, I am granted access to the personal files and authority to ask questions. I am not good at playing games of politics, nor have I ever seen the need to, and now can experience the full weight of unpleasant duties.

Being present during Genesis' interrogation is certainly one of them.

The room Veld chooses is small, walls and ceiling an unobtrusive pale-blue color, and there is no way I can avoid my lover's burning gaze when we are sitting just a few feet apart. His indignation is nearly palpable.

"State your name and rank, SOLDIER." The cold, official tone Veld addresses him in does not help much. Those azure eyes now possess the power to turn a small Wutai detachment into ashes. Or am I the only one noticing?

"Genesis Rhapsodos, SOLDIER First Class, personal number zero zero three seven six."

"When did you enter the Wutai campaign?"

"In May. I cannot remember the exact date, but I hope Shin-Ra will forgive its faithful SOLDIER such a small fault." Only I have known the redhead long enough to hear the mockery in that overly polite voice.

"All right, commander Rhapsodos, tell us what happened on the night of December six, that is to say the day before yesterday, in detail."

Genesis briefly recites the unfortunate events, whereof I am aware, so I keep my attention focused on the small details – how many soldiers survived after the explosion in the tunnels, how long they wondered in the maze of the fortress, how many of them died, a useless task per se, but at least it serves as a good distraction.

Once, Veld interrupts the redhead's story.

"Can you please elaborate on this part, commander Rhapsodos?"

"Which one?"

"When you told us how the General had died. Were you close enough to understand what was said?"

"No. We were at a distance too great to hear anything. When we got closer, it was already too late, and a bloody fight ensued. Somehow we managed to break free although many had perished." There Genesis lowers his gaze, but not fast enough for me to miss the treacherous moisture in his eyes. Can it be tears? "I crossed swords with Maetsuki, but could not defeat him. He is doubtlessly enhanced."

"Did you see anyone else?"

"No, I did not. I tried to find Sephiroth… General Sephiroth I mean, or Angeal, but had no luck. We made it out on our own."

"All right, SOLDIER. Continue."

So I heard the story of Genesis burning the eastern gates of the Wutai fortress and escaping into the cold dawn. Like me, it took him about ten hours – ten long, uneasy hours – to return to the main base. I can only imagine what else he kept to himself – the devouring worry about my and Angeal's fate, the fear, the pain in the wounds the doctors hastily patched up – and once again I am compelled to wonder whether anyone knows what we, SOLDIERs, truly are.

"I am glad to see you are cooperating, commander." Veld concludes my lover's story. "If you answer the last question, I won't take any more of your time. What have you been doing the week before the operation?"

"Most of it I spent with the General and my other friend, Angeal Hewley. Then there were a few missions, of course, but you can check the board."

"General?"

I thoughtfully nod. "I was with him three evenings before the battle. Him and Angeal." I correct myself once I realize my words sound a tad ambiguous. The last thing we need now is a rumor of the army's general having an affair with one of the commanders.

"Thank you, General. It was such a gracious gesture on your part," Genesis daringly challenges me. "I hope I am no longer a suspect."

"If the rest of your story is confirmed, then you aren't." Veld scribbles something on the piece of paper. "You are free to go, commander." When the door after the redhead angrily slams, my gaze lingers on it a heartbeat too long, and it cannot escape the Turk's astuteness. "Are you close to Genesis, General? If so, you cannot let feelings of friendship cloud your judgment. And it won't benefit you or him if you lied."

I bite back a cold smile that obstinately curls my lips – a needless display of emotions – and retort, "I am close enough to say he isn't the traitor we are looking for."

* * *

"So how did the interrogation go?" Angeal asks four hours later. Stifling a yawn, I reach out for the cup of steaming coffee and place my bare palms on the glass to warm them.

"Isn't that the most telltale answer you can give?" Genesis lazily leans back in the old chair, dangling his right leg, and each movement of his is accompanied by the creaking of wood. "An attitude eloquent of boredom, of weariness, and slight irritation... You didn't find anything new, did you?"

"A very perspicacious conclusion indeed. Everyone tells the same story. Masumi issued that unfortunate order, the tunnels exploded, and they fought for their lives, miraculously escaping the Wutai fortress at dawn. If anything is able to shed light on what had happened, it will be their activities prior to the battle. Veld is looking into it now – whether their alibis check out and if anyone was meeting with outsiders." I take a small sip from the coffee cup. Not bad for the army issued rations, even if a little watery. "But I did everything in my power to direct their attention away from the two of you."

"I guess it is much easier now that you are _the General_."

"Genesis…" Angeal hisses, but the redhead ignores his older friend.

Inwardly tensing, I settle on the faded couch, flinging my hair over my chest before reclining on the back. As if being showed off before the army tomorrow isn't a punishment enough to satisfy any ill-wishers, I have to endure being reminded of my new title every time the redhead is around.

"So far, it means I have to reaffirm the curfew and study these reports from the night of the assault." I nod towards the stack of papers I haven't yet touched. "I assure you it is nothing exciting. Tomorrow I am scheduled to inspect the troops, a matter I happen to find even less attractive because of all attention involved, and then I will redeploy units as I see fit."

"When was it… five hours ago that you received the news and you already act like you have been the General for ages."

"What has bitten you today, Genesis?"

"Me?" The redhead spins to face the smiling Angeal. "It's Sephiroth and his new title… Do you know that he can send you anywhere, anytime, and you won't be able to refuse unless you want to be stripped of your rank?"

"Yes." Our older friend raises an eyebrow, soundlessly expressing the rest, which can closely be interpreted as, _'And so?'_

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"I will be honored to give him my service, as a fellow SOLDIER and a friend."

"I appreciate it, Angeal. As for Genesis…" Smirking to myself, I place the empty mug onto the table and take a random paper out of the pile. "I believe the northern outpost will be a place cold enough to cool down his temper."

"You won't dare!" My lover leans forward, features awry with fury, tempting me to reach out and pass my hand over his cheek in a soothing gesture.

"Humph," instead, I put a sweeping signature at the end of the document, which happened to be a technical description of a weapon waiting to be approved. "You are to leave tomorrow at five in the morning…"

Then I can no longer suppress a chuckle, befuddling Genesis who only now realizes I am teasing him. He lunges forward, aiming to snatch the paper out of my hands, but grabs only thin air. I hold it above my head so that to reach it, the redhead will have to hoist himself out of the chair, and he does exactly that, stumbling over the table leg and sprawling across my lap.

Now we are both laughing.

"You lied," after a brief struggle, Genesis scrambles into the sitting position on the opposite edge of the couch. "I know you lied because you cannot live a day without me."

"A far-fetched argument," I parry, "but I did tease you."

The redhead languishingly arches his back, determined to repay me with the same coin. "Tell me, if the General has so much more power, will it be only logical to assume that General Sephiroth is better in bed than SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth?"

And as if to confuse me more, to take full revenge for my earlier joke, his hand casually slips under my coat.

"I will pretend I did _not_ hear or see that." It is Angeal's turn to smirk. "But what you were previously saying makes a lot of sense, Sephiroth. Usually the new SOLDIERs would be first under a cloud of suspicion, but Kyle Allyson isn't the type of person to betray us."

"He isn't. I have checked their backgrounds, and among them nobody has influential parents or connections." I reach for the notes I took during Veld's interrogation.

"I talked to Kyle the other night when I trained him. He is a friendly, good-natured young man with serious intentions to become a SOLDIER First."

"That leaves us with Rufus, Lazard, or someone we don't know, a Turk even." Genesis theatrically bends a finger each time he names another suspect. "But I would bet on either of the President's sons. The temptation to be the next President, you see, is always there."

I shake my head. "The Director, a man of acknowledged canniness, is certainly capable of executing an intricate plan, but his motivation is what makes me believe it wasn't him; or, rather, lack thereof. The company will never make him the President." I look at the notes once again, as if expecting my meticulous writing to reveal something I have not yet understood. Veld even investigated that girl, Aki, but Clark's lover turned out to be a very ordinary woman who worked at the Kalm's grocery store.

"You haven't looked into a possibility that someone would want to destroy Shin-Ra for personal reasons, like vengeance or money, to name but a few," muses the redhead. "I won't dismiss those entirely."

I catch a glimpse of the clock, which shows half past five; it means the end of my short break. I know it is only the beginning of my duties as the General, but already the weight is almost too heavy to bear. Only I was raised for it, quietly reminds the other part, and I don't need excuses. "Our orders are to investigate the disaster, not to play a guessing game," I reply a bit harshly, avoiding two pairs of reproachful eyes, blue and steel-gray.

It will be a very long day.

* * *

"Sephiroth?"

A flicker of light behind my closed eyelids. I react instinctively, sitting up and thrusting my arm forward, mercilessly wrapping my fingers around someone's wrist. With a painful shriek, the intruder wrenches his hand out of mine, hissing, "It's me, Genesis."

"Genesis? You are not supposed to be here." Frowning, I pull the blanket up to my chin. "The curfew…"

"You think I don't know?"

"Then what…"

Darkness, blacker around the contours of my lover's body cozily curled at the edge of my bed, sighs with unconcealed frustration. "I came here because I wanted to see you. Because I _needed_ to see you. Is it an unworthy reason?"

"No."

"Whether a General or a SOLDIER, after you survived that meat grinder, you can't help but think, what if you died and someone else would be sitting on a bed with your beloved."

"Genesis, no one…"

"I know," an almost unnoticeable change of tone. The redhead crawls under my blanket, bringing the chill and freshness of thawing snow with him. "I am sorry, but outside a blizzard rages. I got soaked to the skin."

As if to confirm his words, he starts shivering, and I wrap my arm around his narrow shoulders, brushing dripping locks away from his neck. He leans into my touch with eagerness of the desperate, and to let him know I am still by his side, I breathe into his ear, "I am glad you came."

He presses his cold, trembling lips to my neck – the touch is not all that unpleasant – and whispers in return.

"All that I try to forget during the day comes back at night. Nobody knows it, even Angeal, but I almost died that night near the eastern gates of the fortress. I could see the empty road and taste freedom, intoxicating as a spring wind, and then they showed up, those monsters. They numbered two dozen, Sephiroth, and I..." He takes a deep breath, adding much calmer. "Something happened to me then, something that frightened me even more. It felt like every bone in my body was broken and then melded anew, giving me sudden power. What was _it_, Sephiroth?"

I ponder over his question for a few moments. "The textbook term for it is a limit break. The SOLDIER's enhanced genetics allows him to produce ten times the normal amount of adrenaline when the battle is potentially fatal. For a few short minutes, he is capable of performing at the peak of his abilities and even far beyond it."

"Have you experienced it before?"

"Only once, like you. For the first couple of times it will be painful as you adjust to the changes in your body."

"How do you know so much?"

I roll over to the side of the bed, turning my back to Genesis, and peer into impervious darkness as if expecting to see ghosts of my past. "I was taught extensively since I was four. At first, it was Professor Gast, a brilliant scientist, but then…" I drop my eyelids. "Hojo took over."

"What happened to Gast?"

"He left, or so I was told. However, I think he died."

Genesis gauchely shifts underneath the blanket, raising himself a little to rest his head on my shoulder. Although he is wearing a shirt, I am pleasantly aware of his whole body pressed to mine, of the ravenous hunger of his desire, and hence so much more unexpected sounds his quiet question, "Why?"

I touch my lover's forehead with my fingertips, brushing away a stray lock of faded gold, and a mirthless smile appears on my face. "When I took my first life, I stopped believing in better outcomes."

* * *

…White. Wherever my gaze falls, the alleys, the roofs, the trees are immaculately white. The village turned snowbound overnight, another display of fickle Wutai weather, and as I stride the pounded snow crunches under my boots. Long, twisted icicles hang from the curved roofs, glistening in the spilled waterfall of dusty light, which stains the impeccable whiteness with rainbow, azure, and sunset hues. In quiescence I can hear the uneven sounds my own heartbeat. Each step, however slow, carries me closer and closer to the point of no return, when I will accept full responsibility for the next operation, and then I won't settle for any other outcome but a victory or any other option but to succeed.

"General." It takes time for the realization to sink in, and I halt only when the speaker repeats louder, "General, wait."

"I am on my way to inspect the troops. What did you want, Kyle?"

"Lazard asked me to hand you this message."

I glance over the piece of folded paper and, preoccupied with more urgent matters, hide it in my pocket. "Is that all?"

"Yes, General." He salutes and takes a step backwards, clearly hesitating, but finds resolve to speak his mind. "Well… no... I wanted to ask a personal favor, but if you already appointed someone…"

We resume walking towards the square, struggling against short but mercilessly sharp gusts of cold wind. "Very well. Ask it then." I reply, rubbing my hands to warm them up.

"It's just a silly thing. I want to lead the third unit where all my friends are… if you still decide I am fit to command."

"We are short of able SOLDIERs, so I will give you a separate unit."

Yesterday evening, before Genesis came, I spent planning how to organize my units until I was satisfied with the result. I could not err. Lazard clarified it when he made that call, but there was more to it than a request from the Shin-Ra official. Personal pride.

Pride of a General.

"Thank you, Sir."

I do not turn, continuing to walk towards the rows of Shin-Ra infantry lined up on the main village square by the Leviathan temple. They swarm the small space and the color of their uniforms rivals the blue of the sky. Most of them are wearing helmets, but the first row stands bare-headed. I choose a spot in the middle, by a small fountain, and cross my arms behind my back.

Blue and white.

A lean soldier stands at attention right in front of me, helmet under his arm, face white as chalk, lips trembling, and only the eyes – wild, burning – rove around the square, betraying signs of smoldering life. I feel something is wrong before my mind is able to process all details and therefore stop a safe twenty feet away from him. Hands fly up to the temples, all two hundred in unison; all but one. The pale soldier stands in the same pose as before I approached, like an unnaturally stiff pillar with frightening, living eyes. The squad leader turns to reprimand him and in that moment, when no one is watching him, the soldier pulls out his gun.

"Death to Shin-Ra!" His scream is the ringing of metal, the call full of strange, unexplainable power. Slightly startled, I react slowly as he fires a spurt of flame directly at my chest. Had I been closer, the bullet would have wounded me, but instead harmlessly caresses my upper arm. The metal burns my skin, and a few droplets of blood mar the snow.

The squad leader draws his weapon a moment after the suicide soldier, and he does not miss. A scarlet wave splashes over Kyle and, disgusted, he spreads the droplets all over his face. Disciplined and trained, the rest of the soldiers maintain order although a few bystanders crane forward to get a better view of the incident.

I look down at the body. Now even the eyes lack life, glassy mirrors reflecting nothing. A perfect void. "Take him away."

A few infantrymen readily pick up the corpse and carry him into the maze of streets.

"General," Kyle's visage is a red-and-white mask, his voice – a lifeless croak. "You are wounded."

Only now do I notice that the scratch on my arm is profusely shedding blood on my uniform. I cover it with my hand, wincing from pain. Something like this had already happened a few months ago, only then it was a sniper and he definitely didn't aim at me. Why?

My thoughts are an obscure blur of images and words.

"Why are you standing, muddle-heads?" Veld's voice cuts through the hammering of blood in my temples. "Escort the General to the hospital."

Then the infantry encircles me, and the streets wind backwards to the settlement's outskirts.

… An hour later I finally find myself in the hospital room alone. Outside, the guard is doubled and given clear and unquestionable orders not to let anyone in unless the visitor is the President himself. Genesis tried to see me earlier, came running as soon as the rumors of the shooting reached the barracks, but I didn't let him in. Later on, I will explain to my lover that there is nothing personal in my decision, only the desire to see this resolved. The situation became preposterous and until I find the traitor, I will not leave these small premises.

Anger rises slowly, overpowering me with each step I take, trapped between the white walls and a bed. How did the enemy find out about me being appointed the General so soon? Which unit was the shooter from? I feel responsible for the lack of actions, which made the traitor so impudent. The more I procrastinate the bolder he will become, and the next slip on my part may as well be our last.

If I don't want to be known as the most short-lived and incompetent commander in Shin-Ra history, I will need a name.

Frustration reaches its peak. Pain throbs in my fingers so closely interwoven behind my back that it seems there exists no such force that can separate them. And then…

The thought is akin to a lightning flash, abrupt, almost poignant. I reach for the crumpled piece of paper so carelessly forgotten in my pocket, hastily unfold it, and raise to the oozing light.

"I was wrong about the involvement of Rufus Shin-Ra. He had nothing to do with the most recent treason." It reads. I drop my eyes lower, devouring the short lines, and my heart misses a beat when I reach Lazard's signature. It could not possibly be… or could it?

Having memorized its contents, I tear the note into small pieces and dispose of them. Then I grope for the cell phone and hastily type a short text message. I already know the answer before the Director sends it, for in those minutes it took him to reply – both short and endlessly long minutes – I have found the explanation to everything. It was obvious, always on the surface, and the only reason I did not see it was…

I trusted him.

The opalescent glow of a mako fountain, that inexplicable miracle of nature, was the last key to the conundrum. How could I be so foolish? So blind? But then Masumi made the same mistake…

No matter.

I know what I have to do now. Before the anger abates, I grip the handle of Masamune, determined to tear the chain of fatal treasons once and for all and afraid of but one thing – to be late.

I am late.

When, panting, I run out into the street, the barracks are smoking. The sight reminds me of the ravaged anthill surrounded by dozens of homeless ants. Apparently, there was a small fire, and he used it as a disguise to escape and join with the enemy.

If only did I read the note sooner…


	21. Chapter XX

_**A/N: **_Many-many-many thanks to my beta, AlexJ69! And I decided to dedicate this chapter to Avid Fantasy, knowing how much you like the characters and the pairing. This one is for you. ;)

* * *

_Chapter XX._

"Alpha Unit and Beta Unit?"

"Yes, General!"

"Your task will be to patrol the surrounding areas and ensure that when we move our main base, no substantial obstructions will be encountered. Gamma Unit?"

"Present, Sir."

"You are to make regular reconnaissance sallies and report any significant changes in the enemy's conduct directly to me. Delta Unit?"

"Here."

"You will remain in the village to reinforce our defenses in case of an unexpected strike…"

And so on. Without a change in tone or pace, I had been issuing orders for the Army since early morning, giving each newly formed unit its own set of tasks. I divided the forces into fifteen parts, a thousand men in each, and made sure a SOLDIER was in command of every element albeit at times, the shortage permitted me to place only one First Class at the head of two units. In these cases, they received subordinates to assist them with the missions.

Doing what I was taught required no conscious effort, so I let my thoughts wander in various directions when my attention was not needed. The conference room was twenty two steps long. I counted twice while pacing from one whitewashed wall to another and watching faces change. Amongst them, I noticed Genesis, but didn't acknowledge his presence or show any signs which would betray our closeness.

Then the faces changed again. I worked with new units in the order I named them – after the letters of an old alphabet, Omega Unit being the last one in the chain. When Genesis left the conference room – my thoughts returned to the yesterday's shooting. I found the reason I could not understand who betrayed us this time to be a subject of disbelief because it bordered naïve simplicity. The thought of him being by my side all the time was unsettling and made me ponder over the ease with which people play their roles, and how I deemed it not to be in their capability. Next time I will have to be more careful else misfortunes will recur, and yet acceptance of what I will have to do remains a burden. After all, Clark tried to warn me the only way he could, but I did not listen.

I reach the end of the conference room again and turn around, by touch finding a picture in my pocket. I should have known that there was an ulterior motive as to why Clark talked to me the night before the mission and a different reason why he was so frightened. And that there was another duty he had to fulfill. I am not aware of his reasoning, yet the discourses we had before hinted that he was angered by the thought of Shin-Ra excavating mako.

It was a feeble excuse to reason a treachery.

Lazard's note said he was outside the Shin-Ra base twice during those few days which passed between the mission when we found a mako fountain and the assault on Maetsuki's fortress. Both times his absence was unexcused and noted only by chance members of Shin-Ra army. It appears, Clark's decision was abrupt, hardly planned and, a fortiori, I could assert that Masumi's incompetence was outrageous. When my Lieutenant learned I was given the position of the General, he ordered his unit – his men who fought with him and for him for years – to execute me. While the previous memories hurt, this particular one elicited anger, erasing any doubts that Clark will have to be eliminated.

The faces of unit commanders turn my way, eyes glimmering with curiosity or annoyance, and it finally prompts me to realize that this time I have been absorbed in my own thoughts for a bit longer than usually. The pause grows to the point of becoming awkward. Those present in the room stretch in their chairs, pointlessly riffle through papers or talk to the closest neighbors, displaying telltale signs of slipping attention.

I shift my gaze aloft and clear my throat. "Does anyone have any questions?"

I am rarely ashamed of my blunders. One may call it moral courage, or courage before the judgment-seat of external authority, which I developed in early childhood. I deem it a result of a different realization. I never felt affinity enough to care about what they thought of me or how they judged my actions, due to the inability to identify myself with them fully.

"Yes, General." Is it mockery? From what I've seen so far, no one was thrilled with my sudden appointment and expressed even less trust in my abilities than Clark. Clark tried. Will they? "What are we going to do with the renegade unit of your former Lieutenant? Not everyone managed to escape during the recent fire."

In every group of commanders I dealt with, this question was asked at least once.

"Veld and Tseng conducted an investigation and found most of them innocent of Clark's treason. Those few who knew of his intentions will be tried by a military tribunal and either discharged or serve a sentence in prison."

The veteran SOLDIER Second – some of them never make into the ranks of the First Class – seems satisfied, but if I were him, I would be asking myself whether the new General was covering for his former Lieutenant.

"Anyone else?"

"What about our weakened Eastern front, General?"

"This operation is intended to ensure we will recover from the devastating loss of nearly all advantage we gained since spring. The enemy will doubtlessly launch a series of major strikes to secure his position and possibly dislodge us from the island completely. All our efforts must be spent trying to foresee the movement of the Wutai troops and stave off the danger of stretching our forces too thin."

"But isn't it what we are doing? Stretching the forces too thin, I mean. The island is much shorter across so if…"

I approach an enlarged map of Wutai projected on the wall. "If we position our troops to block this narrow passage, Maetsuki will gather forces from North and South and strike from both sides." I sketch two possible trajectories of their movement. "Then it will be only a matter of time before they break the chain and surround us. However, if we expand in northern and southern directions, they will be unable to draw up forces and encircle the encampment for exactly the reason of this part being too narrow to unfold a full-scale advance."

The speaker, a commander of the Omega Unit if I am not mistaken, looks sour, but does not object to my argument. Suddenly, the sound of commotion reaches my ears from behind the door. In the frame of the glass shield, I see the hallway, crowded with pothering people whose faces I do not recognize but television cameras are signs unambiguous enough to dispel any doubt about the nature of this unexpected visit. Through the narrowing slits of my eyes, I single out the reporter I will be talking to even before he enters the room.

What does the media want?

"SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth?" I nod. "I would like to ask you some questions if you don't mind."

Now I remembered his voice, albeit vaguely. It belonged to the author of the article, written after my victory at Fort Tamblin. _Requiem for the Ancient Glory_, it was presumptuously and rashly called. At least, he doesn't seem to know about my new title.

"I am in the middle of the meeting as you can see. What do you want?"

"I received permission from Shin-Ra authorities to conduct an interview about a recent treason in the army ranks. I knew we would meet once again, Sir."

He extends the paper and it takes me but a short glance to understand the unquestionable importance of the document. It, however, will take much more than that and the affable smile the man flashes at me to persuade me to talk. Turning to the waiting audience, I announce. "Everyone is dismissed. If any questions remained, I would be in my office to answer them."

I return to the paper only when the door after the last participant of the meeting closes and silence shrouds the room. Heidegger, one of the most short-sighted officials in the Board of Shin-Ra Directors, signed the paper allowing the reporters to be present on the main base during such unstable times. He did not take into account that I was not going to let him or anyone else interfere with my plan for whichever reason.

"As the full member of the SOLDIER First Class elite, I have the right to veto any order." I proclaim coldly, handing back the paper. "I am not discussing private matters with reporters."

"If you don't talk, then someone else certainly will."

"Only the General can make a public statement and the General is dead. We can't help you."

The reporter glowers at me sullenly. "Do you suggest that we flew all the way from Midgar for nothing?"

"I am afraid you did." I reply slightingly.

"You cannot be serious, Sir. Give us at least something to work with or…"

"Or?" I repeat his question when the reporter stutters.

"You might regret it."

Threatening me is the worst tactic he could have chosen out of many, thus consolidating me in a thought that deigning him with further explanations will not yield any positive results. Angeal is waiting for me as I asked him to and I use it as an excuse to end our short discourse. Other reporters with cameras cram the corridor and we have to elbow our way through the multitudes swiftly, before anyone decides to take our pictures.

"What was all that fuss about?" Inquires my older friend when we are at a safe distance from _Midgar Times_ employees. "Comes with your new duties as the General, doesn't it?"

"I suppose." I fling my remark with a light smirk. "They wanted to know about Clark, but I refused to disclose the information."

"Are you sure you are all right? Clark was your Lieutenant, but even so, you could not guess what was on his mind. I have known Genesis for years now, and he manages to abash me on occasions."

_Like when he started a relationship with me_, I think to myself, aloud saying the opposite. "I appreciate your concern, Angeal, but no, I was not friends with Clark and I did not know of his abrupt decision to desert."

"If you say so. How are things between you and Genesis, by the way? I know he can be a little annoying at times, but only because he likes you. Sometimes he rejects those he loves most not to hurt them, thinking he will cope alone just fine, but," he stops in his tracks; "he needs you and, remember, he needs you more when he denies it more zealously."

"Humph, one gives nothing so freely as advice."

"Huh?"

"It is an old Wutai saying," I reply, averting my face. "They enjoy speaking in metaphors and riddles, but not as much as him."

Angeal eyes me with the scrutiny of suspicion. "Are you avoiding the conversation? Did he do something again?"

"No." I assure my older friend. "We are perfectly fine."

"But you are still avoiding the answer."

"Perhaps." I lean against the windowsill, musing on how to refrain from talking about the touchy subject of my feelings. "I was worried about him. SOLDIER limit breaks are not studied completely and may come as a surprise, a painful one to say the least. And then battles take their toll as well."

"Limit breaks?"

"They did not tell you? No wonder Genesis was appalled by their effects. When a SOLDIER is in a potentially fatal situation, his enhanced genetics allows him to perform much more efficiently."

Angeal's eyes widen a tad. "He did not tell me that."

"About the limit break?"

"No, that he was close to death."

I shrug. "I was as well. This is something we live with. It can happen any day, any hour, any minute. Indifference and even contempt to danger may proceed from a habit instilled by practice, yet how great a share the natural courage has in this development depends on the individual. Genesis is… courageous to a point of carelessness, and it may not serve him well."

"I understand," Angeal nods with an austere look on his face. "And I promise I will keep an eye on him for you now that you are the General."

When Angeal leaves and I am about to follow him, a familiar sight outside the window catches my attention, a slender, thin silhouette garbed in black. It moves in a way only my lover would and so I linger. He does not know I am watching him and I want it to remain that way.

Incited by the conversation with Angeal and my own thoughts shortly hitherto, I suddenly think of the redhead and Clark and death.

This time, no one will issue orders for me to track down and kill my Lieutenant. It will be but a task necessary to perform before the end of the campaign, and no sentiment would divert me from it. No sentiment…

I look up once again so that the small window is level with my eyes. Gesticulating impetuously, Genesis now stands half-turned to me, blush of excitement showing through paleness of his skin. He explains something to his unit. Around him the snow is falling thick, which he pays as much heed as to the freezing, non-enhanced infantrymen, who repeat the training session in rough conditions. I suddenly recall that he promised to dine with me one day and how I pondered to confess my feelings to him, forgetting all intentions in the whirl of the following events. He doesn't remember and neither do I. Mere sentiments…

I don't like whereto the trail of thought leads me, but decide to follow it until the end. If the war wasn't important, I would not care enough to pursue Clark; but Genesis is different – even if the circumstances ever demand it, I will not kill him, not for Shin-Ra, not for anyone else for that matter.

Someone hails me from the other end of the neon-lit corridor and I move away from the misted glass.

At least, I will try not to disclose Clark's name to the media so that when I write a letter to his lover, I will be able to lie.

* * *

…It is dark in my room when I finally find my way to the Shin-Ra personnel quarters at the end of the day. It wasn't a day of too much bustle. Investigation was wrapped up for the lack of need although Veld and his Turks will be staying at the base for a bit longer. Then Heidegger called. He informed me with a great share of panic in his voice that I should reconsider because the newspaper agent threatened to publish a few facts to besmirch my flawless reputation. I did not take that intention seriously for I was certain that they had nothing on me.

I was wrong.

I know I am wrong the moment my fingers find the switch and press it into the wall. Light floods the small room, snatching the contours of my lover's body out of the darkness. He sits on my bed, half-dressed, using the brief respite to doze without abandoning his vigilance. A scarlet undershirt slipped off his shoulder, baring the alluring shapes, and I wish it to be the only detail that attracts my notice at the moment.

"I have ill news, Sephiroth." My lover looks guilty, handing me a newspaper. "Angeal thought that if I delivered it, you would feel less betrayed, and although I didn't think my involvement could be of much consolation, here I am."

I fall into the deep chair, loosening the collar of my coat, for the air suddenly feels stifling, unnaturally hot for the freezing winter night, which reigns outside.

"How bad?"

"You have to look for yourself."

Slowly, I unfold the crunching pages of the evening edition of the infamous _Midgar Times_, inhaling the strong scent of the freshly printed gutter press. The title alone forebodes nothing good. _Sephiroth, the newest Shin-Ra SOLDIER: hero or fraud?_

My gaze slides lower, finding the lines to be a blur of black and white, whereupon I have to make a conscious effort to separate the small, evasive symbols. Why is the air so hot?

_SOLDIER Fist Class Sephiroth is responsible for the latest defeat at Maestuki's fortress and death of Shin-Ra General Masumi Kamiyo_, reads the smaller, more detailed title and underneath it, a whole article unfolds before my eyes. _The siege of the Wutai fortress turned disastrous for Shin-Ra Electric Company on the night of December 6__th__ when SOLDIER First Class, known as its best asset, failed to take action. Numerous reports from the battlefield say that his unjustified procrastination cost Arthur Shin-Ra General Masumi's life and a much needed victory over the enemy. A source, who wished to remain anonymous, was present during the whole event and decided to collaborate with the newspaper, helping us bring the ugly truth to light. Sephiroth, who was highly praised after his stunning victory at Fort Tamblin, made a significant blunder against the official's high expectations. When a swift attack would have saved the General's life, he ordered a retreat. Even when Kyle Allyson, another member of SOLDIER in his unit, protested against the unreasonable decision, Sephiroth exercised his authority to repress the frustration._

"_There is nothing we can do now," he added. Later he refused to comment on the situation. _

_Rumors are Sephiroth will be promoted to Masumi's position of the General despite his unbefitting age, lack of experience, and recent failures. However, the latest events show that his fickle success belied his prowess and his performance leaves much to be desired. _

The article continues, but I cannot read further. Angrily, I hurl the newspaper aside, rising and facing Genesis.

"Did you say what they claim you said?" He asks at once.

"I could have spoken exactly the same lines, I do not remember. It is beside the point. They took my words out of context, those worthless fools, who never understood that I had no choice. No, Genesis," I slump back into the chair and hide my face in my palms, "I cannot tolerate fools."

"Who, to your way of thinking, could have talked to the media? Someone from Clark's units?"

I utter a curt, forced laugh. "It makes no difference because the damage is already done. How do you act in a situation like this?"

"Is this an honest question?" Carefully, with mistrustful notes.

"You understand them better." Clenching my fists, I restrain the burning urge to leap up and vent my anger on _something_. How dare they? "I tried all that was within the boundaries of human power. I warned them, I sought the General after the explosions, I maintained discipline after the fight commenced, and now they dare blame me, those worthless, ungrateful fools."

"I hold no answer as to why anyone would dislike you so much, but, Gaia be damned, I know how we can repay them!" Radiating an aura of excitement, Genesis mounts another chair and blurts out. "What is the second largest newspaper in Midgar? Isn't it the _Daily Reporter_? It has to be! Likewise greedy for the rare and valuable information, they can stand us in a good stead this time. All you need is to think of something you are willing to sacrifice."

"And what good will it do?"

"Is your memory so short?" Immediately, rings a reproach, tinged with disappointment. I raise my head, searching for an answer to the sudden change on his face, in his eyes. Futilely.

"I am not in the mood for your witty sarcasm."

"You asked for advice, remember? But you doubtlessly need nothing suchlike." The redhead gracefully rises and slips his feet into a pair of my slippers. "Call me when you are ready to hear it."

He retreats into the kitchen in his usual royal manner, shoulders unbent and head thrown back, as if to show me… I am not certain what he wishes to show me aside from his insufferable arrogance. I glance at the newspaper with irritation for it became a source for yet another, if minor, trouble. _What am I willing to sacrifice_, asked Genesis a few moments ago yet it is not me who is supposed to think of sacrifices. As if I haven't yielded enough as it is!

A sound of the opening refrigerator door is heard from the kitchen and – sure enough – the redhead's voice follows at once.

"Is this all you have, Seph? This cheese smells funky."

How typical of my lover, to think of food when my mind is preoccupied with urgent matters of the utmost significance.

"I don't own a restaurant," I reply with cold mockery.

"A restaurant?" Invisible Genesis laughs. "You feed off thin air, it seems."

"And your tone reminds me of Angeal's when he talks of honor, discipline, and sacrifices…"

Sacrifices! Suddenly, it dawns upon me whereof my lover had spoken before and it no longer sounds so ridiculous. Playing with a long tress, I wait until the redhead returns with something edible in his hands – surprisingly enough, I still have food in my fridge left – and settles on my bed.

"Have you pondered over my idea?"

"I have and I believe I can make use of your earlier thought." I reply, continuing to play with the silver strand. He mirrors my gesture, threading auburn tresses through his fingers meticulously, one after another, as an attempt to hide a content expression – a smile with one corner of his mouth.

"I am glad you have," even the tone changes, resembling a purr. "We can kill two birds with one stone – restore your reputation and help their competitor."

I sullenly nod. "I thought of a plan. I will let their reporters observe the battlefield during one of the upcoming operations." Only, I wish I knew what exactly I am to do on the battlefield; at present, I would not dismiss even the maddest solution, if such were to arise.

"That's one good idea. The second will be to forget about them for now and take advantage of the short moment we have." My lover's eyes are intently watching me as I peel leather gloves off my fingers and pull away my boots. "Come to me, Seph."

"I am…" I avert my eyes.

"… Tired? Not in the mood? Preoccupied with other thoughts?" He helps me scramble out of my uniform and settles by my side in an identical pose, lying on his stomach with his chin resting on the pillow. I am watching the colorless cloth. He is looking at me.

"A bit of everything, I suppose." I finally reply.

"That's all right." He straddles my back, flinging the mass of silver hair aside. Resting his nimble fingers on the back of my neck, he squeezes them gently, gradually applying more force. A pleasant, tingling sensation rises and spreads through my upper body, a wave of laxity and warmth. Genesis is persistent in finding every stiff spot on my back and shoulders, and each time he finds one, a quiet moan escapes my lips into the softness of the pillow so intense the pleasure becomes. "Enjoying yourself?"

I manage a curt nod. "It is a foolish expression, however."

"What do you mean?"

"It implies I should enjoy myself, like in an act of self-induced sexual excitement, and it is untrue. I am actually enjoying your presence."

For a moment, Genesis interrupts his caresses, resting his whole weight on my back. His lips touch my ear. "You can't be serious. Or, wait, you actually are. But it's just an expression…"

I smirk. "Will you continue, please? I was enjoying it… quite a lot."

"Fine," leaning back, he resumes massaging my shoulders, perhaps, just for the satisfaction of hearing another moan passing my lips. "But since we broached the topic, I can't let go of it without appeasing my curiosity. Have you ever experienced self-induced sexual -" he suddenly laughs. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

"Why does it concern you?"

"It's what most people do, even Angeal, but don't tell him I said that. He'd kill me."

"What an invaluable insight." I mock him to hide sudden perplexity. I am not prepared to answer these strange questions. They remind me of lab assistants and doctors who were keen to know everything, but at least, I understand why they expressed curiosity in topics like this.

"Since silence gives consent, I will take it as _yes_."

"If it pleases you," I murmur, disinterested to continue the conversation.

Genesis falls off my back, laughing. "You are insufferable, Seph." He manages in short pauses between fits, a poor explanation for his mood swing. Arching my brow, I wait until he collects his wits. "Why can't you say a simple _yes_ or _no_? It can't be harder than fighting. Let's play a short game. I am going to ask a simple question and you will have to answer _yes_ or _no_."

"No."

"_That_, Seph, wasn't an option."

I sigh, defeated. "All right, I will play but on one condition. You will make your inquiries reasonable."

"Reasonable? I did not say anything about being reasonable." Before I have a chance to object, he puts his palm across my lips. "So, let's start with something simple. Do you like chocolate?"

"No."

"Do you like to fight?"

"Yes."

"Do you like kissing?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever liked anyone besides me?"

"No."

"Not even some pretty lab assistant?"

"No."

"Not even Angeal?"

I am certain my eyes widen by a tad. "No. What kind of…"

"_Yes_ or _no_, remember? Do you like me a lot?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"This is not a _yes_ or _no_ question," raising myself on my elbow, I teasingly remind him of the game rules. Genesis is smiling and I respond to him in kind, for he helped me forget about the newspaper, about Clark and Shin-Ra, even if for the time being. If he asks any question now, I will give him an honest answer, be it is about peculiarities of my food tastes or whether I love him. Instead, he pulls me into a deep kiss with all the privileges of being lovers for a few months; by that, I mean you no longer need to think where or when to touch or even whether to touch at all. When Genesis draws back, he is noticeably flushed and more so from my caresses than from the explorations of my lips. His hips repeat my movements, longing to catch and lock the sweet moment, when skin rubs against skin, and pleasure slowly seeps in small, tormenting measures through the sensual contact of throbbing flesh. In addition, my lover's warm hand adds pressure to the most sensitive tip, and no longer thinking much, I slowly slide his undershirt over his head.

"Are you sure you are not in the mood." With a smug smirk, Genesis turns the light off and, chuckling, I shake my head.

… When we are finally satiated with ourselves, it is long past midnight, but fatigue surprisingly lags. And so, with his head resting on my shoulder, I tell Genesis about my misadventures at Maetsuki's fortress, about the General's death, about my own limit break and escape.

And only of my doubts I do not speak.

* * *

…The name of the village is strange. It isn't ordinary but with a smack of an old mystery, as Genesis said when he stopped by my office a few hours ago. I do not see settlements with such names often. Da Lat.

It was Tseng who mentioned it first; then Kyle was sent thereto with the reconnaissance unit, seeking information I very much needed. He did not find a lot, but enough to alert me that something unusual might be happening there. With the scarce amount of options we have to hold against the Wutai, this might be our – I don't want to say only or last, but certainly one of the few chances to retaliate for the disaster at Maetsuki's fortress.

In the morning, Heidegger called again. I pretended to listen to his every word rather effectively. However, with my tolerance for fools lower than usually, I snapped at the end, having told him to amend the situation himself and cease bothering me for worthless reasons. He did not take that well. Lazard called a few hours ago, when the short winter day reached its pinnacle, but this time it was to assure me that Shin-Ra would do everything possible to stop the lies from spreading. I told him of Genesis' plan and he agreed to contact a representative from the _Daily Reporter_.

Kyle still stands before my desk at attention, waiting until I make a decision. Clark. My new title. Calumny in the newspaper. Da Lat. There is a thin thread, connecting the four, the nexus of cause and effect, and I cannot cease thinking that a simple solution in this case is the best.

With force, I push the chair aside and rise. "Kyle, contact Tseng and arrange one of his Turks to meet me by the helicopter pad in fifteen minutes sharp."

"Yes, General. May I come with you?"

"No, Kyle, this time I am going alone." Currently, anyone will prove an unnecessary burden rather than an asset. I need an outlet, a quick battle to vent my frustration, hoping to learn something new about my enemy's weaknesses and Clark's fate at the same time. After all, I am not simply a titled General but an active SOLDIER.

"General, if it has to do with the recent events, it was not my fault. I read that article in the newspaper today and I am sorry… I am so sorry they understood my words wrongly. I hadn't intended it to become a slander because if anyone does not deserve such treatment, it is you."

I look at him and through him. "You should not have talked at all then. Dismissed."

He obediently withdraws after an uncouth salute. I linger to tighten the straps across my chest and gird my waist with a belt. Checking if the materia slots are full, which means the ice, the lightning, and the fire materia are in place, I close the flaps of my coat and button it through for the cold season. Masamune is the last detail in my outfit. When I walk out into the street, the contours of buildings are scarcely visible in the winter twilight. The short blizzard had subsided, and only sparse snowflakes continue falling through the crisp air, huge, glimmering, like lightning bugs. I inhale deeply, enjoying the cold trickling down my throat after hours spent in stifling atmosphere of the new office. The stillness of night is in itself a subject of certain allure and I try to walk quieter not to disturb it by the crunching of snow under my boots.

The helicopter awaits me as was arranged. The moment I climb into the transport, the pilot, a young Turk I don't know, turns and cheerfully proclaims, "We are finally going to get them, Sir! Where are we flying to?"

I close the door, cutting the fading dusk light. "Da Lat."

Da Lat turns out to be an abandoned settlement numbering a few lopsided huts, scattered about the narrow chalice of a valley. I leave the helicopter on the hill and skirt another one until the view of the village opens up before my eyes in velvety embrace of early evening. Yet, as I continue walking further, it becomes obvious that the huts are nothing but a false front for the ruins a lot older than walls of worm-eaten wood and straw roofs. Scarcely had I stepped over the invisible line when a structure of obviously ancient origins sprung up out of nowhere, an arch of black stone with faded blue ornament carved into it. Running my fingers over the cold block of granite, I look around. Far and wide, stand the same structures, their arches nodding westward and sinking into the ground. It takes only a second glance to realize that the scattering is not entirely chaotic, but shapes a mazy pattern which leads me out to the square with a fountain similar to the one I have recently seen in Maestuki's fortress only larger in size. Two Leviathan statues proudly bend over the pool, which, contrary to my expectations, is not empty. Bright-green liquid splashes against the granite borders, raising clouds of ghostly fog, which gives the creatures an illusion of movement. Around the fountain, pristine snow is strewn with iridescent sparks.

The scenery appears so deceitfully unmarred that at first, I don't notice the presence of a small party of Wutai gathered on the opposite edge of the fountain. Avoiding ledges covered with ice, I climb the enormous arch and hide behind the disproportional protuberance, blending with shadows to observe them from above. The gathering parts evenly, and a man in a light-blue robe regally walks through the living corridor, carrying a censer of sorts. A priest, I am certain. So far, I was able to count two dozens of guards, a trifling challenge in case I decide to intervene. For now, I am simply watching, trying to understand the meaning of the ritual and whether it can offer me insight into the enemy's weaknesses. Even the impregnable battle armor has them.

The priest approaches the granite edge, plunging into the fog. The censer oddly swings, winking in the haze with each movement of the robed man. Arms lifted upwards, he begins a chant, and although words are muffled to a point that I cannot discern them, it is not hard to tell that his goal is to call upon the Wutai god, Leviathan. Green sparks start meandering on the snow, gathering into streamlets, rising like heads on thin, elegant necks and freezing over the pool. Pool of mako. Mako streamlets. We have materia to interact with the Planet. They learned to do it in their own way.

And then I spot him. Lieutenant Clark. Former Lieutenant Clark, I should say, for now he is but a renegade Niel Clark. He descends from the helicopter, straight as a rod, and his gait is jerky as if there is a force controlling him. He is dressed in the same light-blue loose cloak as the priest. Seeing him is not as easy as I thought it would be. There is something in me that says it's wrong, yet I remember the shooting and my hand resolutely reaches for Masamune.

In the meantime, Clark approaches the pool. The thick fog heaves as he steps inside the cloud, ascends the granite edge of the fountain to the incessant wails of the priest, and it dawns upon me what I am about to witness – a mako bath, a ritual the book in the Temple described; how Wutai warriors received their powers. I stand as though having grown into the wall, my heart and mind racing, guessing whether I am witnessing the whole ritual or parts of it or…

Clark disappears in the green mist completely.

Pulling myself up the small protuberance, I climb atop and leap off the arch. The air burns cold in my throat as I rise and, unsheathing Masamune, land on the edge of the fountain bed. The priest's body falls first in the fantail of green and red; I raise my sword for another strike when Clark jumps out of the mako bath.

"Retreat!" He screams, dashing towards the helicopter that brought him here.

Emerald spurts twine into pillars of raw mako, gushing out of the wide cracks in the ground, like blood – from the wound. The granite edge underneath my feet trembles, white laces of decorations crumbling into the pool, and I understand that at the moment chasing after my former Lieutenant isn't a safe option. The disorderly crowd of Wutai runs every which way, but more often than they escape, human figures fall into the holes wherefrom more mako pours out into the open, swallowing the snow with appalling quickness. I am no longer paying them much heed, for I have a different and more dangerous adversary to face – the elements.

"What have you done?" Clark shouts from the helicopter, which now hovers above my head. "By interrupting the ritual you destroyed the settlement!"

I squint at the traitor's barely visible silhouette. "Why?"

He understands because the answer escapes his lips at once, drowning even the splashing of tall waves. "You have no right to take this from the Wutai people!"

"Take what?"

"This," he gestures around the village whereof by now only scattered islets remain struggling against the onrush of elements. "The mako!"

The helicopter lingers a whit longer as though Clark expects me to betray Shin-Ra and join him in the strange mission he had bestowed upon himself and then finally disappears in the winter night. I find myself completely alone.

The last islet still struggling, the fountain bed careens, like a bow of a sinking ship, and freezes above the green lake of mako, rippled by huge waves. I run along its border to the highest point and when it dangerously nears the splashing liquid below, jump up the Leviathan statue and grapple its head.

Frightened I am not albeit there is a pang of anxiety in my chest, and my throat feels dry. Will I be able to push off the statue with enough force to reach the 'shore' of this newly formed lake?

The young Turk delivers me from doubts. Carefully guiding his helicopter through clouds of mist, he brings it close enough for me to grip the rails and scramble into the wobbling cabin.

"That was some epic explosion, Sir. What happened?"

I take a deep breath of relief. "The ritual went wrong and mako broke from underneath the ground. It appears the mako pool was very close to the surface in this area."

The pilot grins. "Too bad no one of those newspaper pricks saw _this_. Shall I break the news to Tseng?"

"Briefly. I will properly write a report tomorrow."

I am not certain this mission provided me with more answers than raised questions, but at least I have a vague idea where to quest for those answers.

Below, the waves recede from the doomed islet, only to return to beat with renewed force. I lean against the cold glass and through the mist of my breath watch Da Lat as it plunges into the emerald whirl.


	22. Chapter XXI

_**A/N: **_My gratitude to my awesome beta, AlexJ69, and to Gabriel who inspired one little scene. I cannot disagree that Sephiroth (esp. at the age of 18) and women is… well, a big misunderstanding. :)

* * *

_Chapter XXI._

The air in the temple library is heavy, permeated with the scent of the old, moldy tomes. Wings of dusk thrash against the glass and sunlight seeps through the windows by mere crimson-tinged droplets, waning. I put the book onto the windowsill, absent-mindedly thumbing through pages, and their rustle is the only sound heard in the vast room; that and the creaking of leather when I shift weight.

…_The tale of L__ά__rke began at the end of the golden ages of yore, when the Planet flourished, when people first settled on its surface and the stars were young like buds of blossom on the branches of cherry trees. Simple it was to live then, enjoying a plethora of riches freely, for it wasn't in labor or hardships that the men's souls perfected themselves and their hearts were purified, but in the harmonious unity with nature. Yonder lands, whether to a man or a beast, became a Paradise, the notion of which was preserved in many generations to come, the wistful longing bearing a name – the Promised Land. _

I pick up the book, leaf the pages back and forth, until the name _L__ά__rke_ resurfaces again. Turning away from the window, I get deeper into the closing rows of shelves, deeper into the creeping shadows, pacing myself so that I can walk and read at the same time.

… _L__ά__rke came from the east, a tired wayfarer dressed in a well-worn cloak, leaning onto a blunted staff, which bloomed in his skillful hand. He bore ill news about the invasion of fiends, which were abundant in numbers and to whom the blue-gray vast of the Great Sea was no hindrance. The Wutai tribes never faced an enemy as ferocious and invulnerable as them. Many had gone into battle, yet very few returned, and to the Wutai island came the era of great tribulation. Widows wept over nameless graves. Children wandered homeless and the land withered, refusing to give fruit. Ravens and vultures gathered on the rooftops for their hideous feasts, and none was there to shoo them off. Then stepped forward the stranger by the name of L__ά__rke, the one who could revive old wood and grow flowers on dead stones, and told them that the Planet harked to their wails, only they had to learn how to talk to it. Very few believed him. Desperate and weak, they sought the wellsprings of life whereof L__ά__rke had spoken, and offered the Planet a prayer. It answered. It gave them power and speed, and wisdom. A battle…_

I halt to flip the page, turning towards the stream of weak light still falling through the windows.

_A battle burst forth on the plains where heretofore only rye and wheat grew; blood imbrued the grass and golden ears burnt to dust. Though the Wutai warriors displayed unexampled valor in a slaughter that lasted for many an hour, bleeding and smirched with defeat, they had to flee. Then L__ά__rke spoke again. He said there was another way to achieve triumph and it was to mix blood of a human with the blood of the Planet so that out of life death would be begotten._

_Little did he know that the only person willing to believe him would be his lover. __Little did he know that she, a young and passionate Wutai girl, would sacrifice herself to stop the horde and save her people. When L__ά__rke understood what she had done, great sorrow descended upon him because alone – all else, living and not, abandoned them - alone he was doomed to watch as life was leaving her by a whit with every sunrise; life and sanity. Blood of the Planet is poison for its living creatures. When she could no longer recognize him, L__ά__rke carried her to the Great Sea, walking barefoot until his feet bled; walking bareheaded until merciless sun scorched his hair and it turned white. And on the shore he prayed to the Planet for one last time; and so deep was his sadness and his hail – so strong that it heeded his request. The leaden waters parted, revealing the terrifying shape of the Mighty Leviathan, and he accepted the monster into his bosom, granting her eternal peace if only in death. As for L__ά__rke, he turned into stone and as his blood flowed into the earth, a wellhead of life gushed therefrom. It was since then that people deemed it to be a sacred place of worship and a yellow-and-white flower – the most desired offering for it was said to have grown from L__ά__rke's tears as he watched his beloved turn into a monster…_

To every legend there is a share of truth, I think anew, closing the tome and sliding it into the narrow opening where it stood untouched for years. The description of these _wellsprings of life_ resembles the mako fountain I saw at Da Lat yesterday; no, that would be an understatement. Da Lat was the name for one of those springs. There must be a similar, larger even, place of worship on the shore of the Wutai Island somewhere to the South if I remember what Genesis had read correctly; and it has to be destroyed to cripple Maetsuki's army and bereave it of the advantage enhanced warriors give him.

All that I require is a map and a few answers, isn't it?

I am prepared to spend the whole night and the next free day in the library if need be, even foreseeing Genesis' frustration. The questions I have disquiet me more than on a surface level of the need to find a course for a swift triumph. Could it be that here, in these half-mythical legends, lies an answer I have sought since early childhood? Could it shed light on what had happened to me in those years I cannot recall? Why can I accept excessively large dosages of mako, which is supposed to be a poison to all living beings? Why can any SOLDIER?

I run my fingers over identical leather backs, choosing a book at random, and delve into the endless maze of old, yellow pages. All else loses importance – the defeat, the article in the newspaper, the new task I had been given; people live and die on these pages, people tell stories and, whether the words are figments of their imagination or real facts, I use them to fill in the blanks of my own puzzle. When my legs and back grow numb from leaning against the shelf or standing in the aisle, I resume pacing, and then with the rustle of pages blends the echo of footfall fading in darkness…

**¸.·ˆ¯)(¯ˆ·.¸**

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Genesis inquires two days thereafter.

Tired and frustrated, I prop my heavy head with my palm and glance at the desk, heaped with unread reports from the most recent reconnaissance missions.

"I don't know." What was I looking for indeed? The knowledge of my origins? The mystery of my power? After two long, sleepless nights, I am deeply disappointed with the lack of relevant answers to those questions and am not in the mood to hide it.

"Whatever you were trying to quest for does bother you a lot, I can tell."

"So what if it does?"

Out of the tail of my eye, I can see the redhead sitting on the small couch, legs crossed and head tilted aside, revealing a dangling earring amid the mass of disheveled auburn hair. I thoughtlessly follow the shining pendant with my gaze.

Genesis notices me looking. "Nothing. I guess it shouldn't bother you more than the latest news from the Wutai front."

"Do you mean the rumors about them planning to attack our base? If so, it was only expected. They did not offer Clark protection for nothing, and my former Lieutenant isn't a fool. He knows me well and he will use what he knows against us."

"But you have the same advantage."

"It appears I do." The thought, however, is not consoling. I feel I am missing something very important, something… crucial, and my demurs have little nexus with how to secure Shin-Ra's victory over Wutai. I turn in my chair. "What would you do if you were Clark?"

"Are you trying to tempt me into betraying Shin-Ra? If you are, the thought sounds very appealing indeed; however, I would find it tenfold more tempting if you made your offer naked…"

"Genesis." My cold tone is a first warning that I will not tolerate flirtatious jokes today.

"Why did I deserve such a sudden lapse from your grace? I was only proclaiming the truth and that truth is such – you hide your stunning nudity from this world, and…"

"Genesis!"

"All right." He sighs with ostentatious humbleness, hiding azure merriment under the trembling canopy of sooty eyelashes. "Suppose, I am this poor Clark. What I will do first is flee to the furthest corner of this world and dig myself as deep as possible because the thought of you chasing me is uncomfortable."

Mentally, I roll my eyes. "_That_ was extremely helpful."

"Clark will attack our base while he knows we are weakened." Angeal says, entering. "Or at least I would do it if I were him."

I greet my older friend with a nod. "So I thought."

"Did you need me to confirm your unquestionable rightness?" He teases, settling in the empty chair, which looks old enough to belong to his grandmother. Shin-Ra wasn't generous in equipping the General's office on the field.

"No, what I needed is to estimate my chances. I am going to heed to Genesis' advice and involve the _Daily Reporter_."

"It has already been done." The redhead takes a letter out of his pocket. "During the two days of your voluntary confinement in the temple library, Lazard arranged a press-conference at the Junon military base."

"Genesis is a genius when it comes to placing his ideas in a good light. Wasn't hard after what you did at Da Lat."

I shift my gaze from Angeal's face to Genesis'. "I feel like I am missing something."

"That is what happens when you decide to spend days and nights in the library." Replies my lover. "Did you think that what you had done at Da Lat would go unnoticed? Though uninhabited, it was a _whole_ village that sunk in the mako lake, huts and barns… a dramatic sight it must have been, now that I am thinking about it."

"So while you were in the temple, the media gets ahold of the rumor and Genesis only pours oil on the flames." Angeal contently smiles. "Guess what? The reporters are dying to talk to you now."

"I, for once, would anxiously see them dead."

Genesis bursts into laughter. "Nobody asks you to talk to _Midgar Times_ reporters, Seph. Lazard called the press-conference and there appeared to be more than enough avid media employees willing to write laudatory speeches about your undeniable bravery and heroism. Tseng specifically chose those who did not work for that Gaia-damned newspaper."

"So be it." I firmly proclaim, ignoring Genesis' not so subtly expressed sarcasm, and rise from the chair. "I am going to Junon and you are coming with me."

My friends exchange perplexed glances not quickly enough for me to miss this wordless conversation.

"But how can we leave the base…"

In the same wordless manner, I gesture towards the walls, which – as my previous experience had very clearly shown – also can have ears. "Notify the Turks and SOLDIER at once."

…When I convey my decision to the rest of SOLDIER, the majority of them look dissatisfied, but with the new rank, I received the privilege not to explain anything beyond the simple set of instructions. Six hours later we successfully land at the Junon base, the jewel of Shin-Ra latest development in the area of warfare and military engineering. One might assume this role should belong to Midgar, but whereas the capital is the city with the largest concentration of Shin-Ra resources, both human and technological, its function is solely administrative. Junon is where the army is stationed, drills are performed and the arsenal kept. Every recruit has been to Junon at least once; I would not be able to count my visits there with fingers on both hands.

As usually, the helicopter drops us and our escort at the lower levels. Above us, the bulk of the city reaches to the sky with numerous shapeless frames of its buildings and cannons. The newest Shin-Ra pride, the largest Junon cannon, is hidden from our view by the mountain its foundation cuts into. Its long muzzle faces the Great Sea, and if I close my eyes, focusing solely on sounds, I can hear heavy waves lapping against the stones. In the same way, I can call the layout of the whole city to my mind, as though expecting to defend it against the Wutai despite the absurdity of the idea.

"Sephiroth, are you coming?" Genesis hails me from the opposite side of the street and I shake off the thoughtfulness, which consumes me at the familiar sight of narrow streets and silhouettes of the ranged lampposts, standing out against the dusty light of the sunset. It seems that winter never came to Junon, giving vent to its ire over the vast fields of Wutai and plains near Midgar, but then the season change is hard to behold in the main cities.

"Do you remember our first time here three years ago? It feels like forever, doesn't it?" I catch up with my friends in time to hear Angeal's question. He talks about the days when we had not yet known each other. Seems like a long time ago, it does.

"Can you not remind me of it, please?" Genesis' face wries into that of a deeply humbled child; feigned, certainly.

"It cannot be that bad." I press the button to call for an elevator, which connects all levels. A car rushes by, raising clouds of dust, and then, tires screeching, stops at the nearest red light. One of the Turks from our escort mumbles something incoherent about crazy Junon drivers.

"A woman on the sixth level confused him with a girl and even bought him a strawberry ice-cream bar." Angeal giggles into his fist. "After the explanation, she still insisted on him having that ice-cream. Gen would make such a pretty girl."

I chuckle; perhaps, not all that humbleness was pretence. Despite the length and color of my hair, not a single soul at the labs ever dared to mistake me for a female.

Although he tries hard, my lover cannot hide his tender pride, and the elevator takes us to the top level in silence. When we reach the military quarters, Lazard and a sleek official in a light-gray suit greet us upon entrance. A woman, this time. Humph.

"How was your trip?" Director inquires politely.

"Quite well, albeit long. Who is this?" I eye the woman from head to toe, unimpressed.

"I am Mikelle O'Neal from the _Daily Reporter_. A pleasure to meet you, General," rings a saccharine reply. I am too tired for the displays of courtesy common to the members of upper stratum, so I grace her with a nod.

Then it dawns upon me. "General?"

"We are making our own move with the queen, Sephiroth." Lazard responds insinuatingly. "The President shuns negative publicity with any means necessary. Since _Midgar Times_ had taken the opposite side frequently during the Wutai war, it has been decided that we will not allow it to exist as an independent newspaper. Mikelle here is going to help us, but we have to be open with them."

"Her?"

"You don't trust women, do you, General?" The reporter circles me, her high heels clattering upon the floor. "Rules are a little different in our world, simpler and more complicated at the same time. To make a long story short, you don't solve conflicts with your sword, but, rather, you go for their pockets." A simper. "We give noble Midgar citizens something exciting to read during their coffee hour, they pay us, and our competitors lose their sale ground. You give us a few stories fresh and impressive enough and we give you victory over Ike. That should be quite simple for your world, too, General."

I hem again. Is this some sort of a hidden challenge?

"Ike is an old colleague of mine, who turned a competitor a few years back." Mikelle continues, leaning over me a bit too close for my liking – all huge, predatory eyes, plump lips and exposed flesh. I take a step back. "It will be a pleasure, General."

"What can you do?"

"A lot of things as you will find out during our close collaboration. The Director is a good friend of mine," she links arms with Lazard and a light but visible blush creeps over his cheeks. "And he can tell you how good I am… at what I do."

"Ahem, she really is, Sephiroth, no reason for doubt." Lazard mumbles hastily, a tad too hastily. What was a trace of doubt grows into certainty – they must be sleeping together. How petty. "But now that the introductions are done, I suggest we retire for the evening and resume tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it, General."

As she passes me, her fingers unnoticeably brush against my forearm and a wave of rose scent washes over me.

Following a slender figure with my eyes, I thoughtfully inquire, "What's wrong with that woman, Genesis?"

"Wrong?" The redhead's lips curve in a smug smile. "Nothing is _wrong _with her_, _Seph. She was flirting with you."

**¸.·ˆ¯)(¯ˆ·.¸**

The dark street, which extends from the main headquarters to the barracks and warehouses, is empty, aside from the silent presence of the street lights, which cast long shadows onto the ground. A chance passerby, bundled against the chill of a winter night, shrinks up in the corner between a café and a shop. We cross the road, getting deeper into the alley and further away from the Shin-Ra headquarters. My hand is in Genesis' as I follow him until he stops by a desolated corner of the weapon warehouse. A stray cat with glimmering eyes keeps us company for a few minutes and then even he disappears in a small hole in the barbed fence. Suddenly, the scenery looks familiar, painfully so, and I squint, attempting to remember, where it was that I had seen it before…

"Why did you drag me out here? Angeal will be unnecessarily worried and, besides, there is the danger of us being seen together."

Genesis leans against the wall and crosses his legs. "You don't trust this flirting reporter? I wouldn't if I were you."

"Hardly." I look round, frowning at the sight of oddly shaped buildings. Then my tenacious memory obediently offers the answer I was looking for – I was here during the Junon mission, which involved securing and protecting an abandoned warehouse; my first experience working in a team and… my first failure. Could it be that Genesis intentionally brought me here to remind… although judging by his clueless face -which I know could be deceiving - he does not seem to be aware of that fact in my biography.

"So now that we are alone, I expect you to tell me everything. Why did all of us have to leave Wutai? Even the commander of Alpha Unit thought it was a bad decision and -"

"Do you trust my judgment?"

"I do, but -" the redhead stammers, biting his lower lip, betraying his impatience and a staunch determination to know.

"In the fullness of time, you would have known, however, you wish to rush things." Genesis' expression melts into that of barely concealed content. He has already guessed that I would answer. "Clark correctly believes that we are weakened; depleted of troops, resources, bereft of territorial advantage. Perhaps, the Wutai would not have otherwise realized how cornered we are, but with his help, there remains no doubt they had. When Clark receives the news that we left for a conference, he will launch an attack on our main base, certain of his success."

"And what…"

"You and Angeal will secretly return to the base before the press-conference starts."

"So now you are sending us away before you talk to those vultures…"

"You won't be pleased with anything I do, will you?"

"Yes… and no. I…" sharply, defiantly. Genesis pushes off the wall and clenches my shoulders. The kiss is passionate but short, ending as abruptly as it began and leaving but a trace of warm moist on my lips; a unique scent that belongs only to Genesis.

"Promise me, you will be careful."

"I will."

Perhaps, this is what Genesis meant by a wordless conversation, when more is said whereas no word is spoken aloud. I break our embrace first. It is time to get back, but before that I need to ask a question which troubles me still; a question, which has to be answered with words.

"Were you angry with the reporter's behavior earlier? If that is the case, I…"

"You don't need to explain anything, Sephiroth." The redhead interrupts me before I can finish the thought. "I would be jealous if I didn't know that you take more interest in your Masamune than in any woman's breasts."

I freeze for a moment only to realize how correct my lover's assumption had once again turned out to be. Even the irrational minds are capable of making flawless logical conclusions. Sometimes.

I look up, at the stars. My head is strangely empty of thoughts and guesses as wariness eventually catches up, unwilling to let go. Light wind wafts the scent of spring, of rebirth, which is yet to come.

In Junon, spring smells of sea salt and steel.

**¸.·ˆ¯)(¯ˆ·.¸**

The room Lazard chooses for the press-conference is large enough to seat a hundred people, however, I am glad that only two dozens reporters had shown themselves willing to participate today. Never was it a strength of mine to explain what I do and why I do it much to people's dissatisfaction, yet how could anyone expect me to find an explanation for intuitive thinking?

When I enter, every head turns my way, and glances feel almost palpable, like unpleasant touches of long, cold fingers. Intuition combined with heightened SOLDIER senses always alerts me to the abundance of unwanted attention. Escorted by two Turks, who protect me from both sides, I walk down the aisle towards a small dais where I take a seat by the long table, having left my escort silently standing behind. A few cameras flash, spilling sharp light and compelling me to avert my eyes. "This won't be easy," Lazard warned me before we entered the hall and I could have sworn his tone was almost apologetic. Now he sits to my right, his usual unabashed self in the immaculately blue suit and white gloves – a politician incarnate – and suddenly I feel oddly out of place compared to him. Unlike me, he is in his element.

Adjusting his microphone, the Director briefly tests the sound and announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for expressing eagerness and finding the time to come. We shall begin without further delay. First and foremost, let me introduce to you the new General of the Shin-Ra army, a full member of the elite, SOLDIER First Class Sephiroth." Silence. In the corner, the pendulum of an ancient clock swings evenly. Reporters in the first row exchange brief glances, others crane forward to get a better view. The Director clears his throat and reaches to adjust his glasses, a gesture he often uses to hide slight confusion. "He is here to answer any questions, which might have accumulated during the course of the Wutai campaign."

Mikelle, who turned out to be the editor-in-chief for the _Daily Reporter_, raises her hand first. Her question was to be expected and in this case, I was instructed how to reply.

"Elaborate on the goals you plan to achieve during the war, General."

Essentially, it is a question about Shin-Ra goals; when Lazard gave me instructions this morning after I sent Angeal and Genesis back to Wutai, he already knew that I understood a bit too much about the real cause of invasion just as he knew that I would say exactly what the Company expected of me to. It was a conversation without words, the mechanics of which Genesis had taught me. With a light smirk unrelated to the subject, I monotonously enumerate ways, in which mako excavations will advantage the industry and help battle the poverty in Wutai. Doubtlessly, the President is very keen on helping people. Naïve fools. Granted we have the victory, those struggling Wutai will be forgotten in a blink of an eye. For this profound cause they fight so zealously. For the same cause, my former Lieutenant Niel Clark deserted. As for me… the strong and smart win while weak lose; if the Wutai is not strong enough to hold, it will fall and it is the only justice I believe in; the justice of natural selection.

I finish my speech with the most impressive argument about cheap electricity, which I had not seen in many Wutai settlements – the only sincere truth I allow myself to weave into the veil of pleasant lies – and take a sip from the glass of water to wet my throat. As long as it is not I, who is being fooled, Shin-Ra can have it any way it wants.

This time, silence is broken only by hasty rustle of pens against paper. I remember the dark library, the old tomes, the strange tale of Lάrke praying to the Planet for his lost lover and my attention begins to slip because somehow everything is connected and…

"Do you have an explanation to what had happened in Da Lat, General?"

The voice returns me back to the reality of the room filled with people who are overly interested in my personality.

"Da Lat was an area naturally rich with mako, where its deposit lay close to the surface. The Wutai used it as a place of worship, conducting rituals to enhance their warriors and possibly monsters. I cannot provide you with detailed information about the ritual itself, however, at this moment, I know enough to assert that Da Lat is not the only such place. When I investigated the settlement, a ritual was being performed. Interrupting it caused the village to sink in the lake of freed elements."

"Does it mean that whoever planned to benefit from the ritual could not complete it?"

"Yes. I neutralized the danger of it being used with the intentions of gaining power for at least a few years until the place becomes stable enough again."

"Thank you, General." That is Mikelle. She is smiling. I don't like how she smiles.

"Next question," dispassionately announces Lazard.

The reporter in the back row has to rise to full height to be noticed in the forest of raised hands. "General, could you, please, comment on your sudden promotion?"

Unnoticeably, I shrug my shoulders. "I don't understand the question. General Masumi Kamiyo died in battle and I replaced him as the head of the Shin-Ra army by the unanimous decision of the Board."

The reporter does not in any way look baffled, rephrasing his question at once. "But how do you feel about your new responsibilities, considering your disadvantage in age and experience?"

"Disadvantage, you say… I feel quite confident about the _disadvantage_, which can unjustly be regarded as such only if one is not aware that I have been trained and educated in military art since the age of five or six. That gives me twelve years of experience and it is more than Masumi had."

Murmur spreads in the hall, however, the reporter does not yield a point, as though knowing others will support him. "No one in this gathering is privy to the secret information about how Shin-Ra Electric Company makes its SOLDIERs," I flinch at the work '_makes'_, "but we have the results of your last major operation. Maetsuki, titled the First Lance of Wutai, was capable of defeating elite members of SOLDIER and regular army units. Doesn't it mean that, compared to him, you are at the disadvantage?"

"There were a few factors Masumi was incapable to take into consideration when he made the decision to assault Matsuki's fortress. One of them included treason within our ranks."

"Treason?" The reporter's surprise sounds feigned. "Could you be more specific?"

Anger, buried close to the surface of my seemingly iron self-control, awakes with the inquiry. Clenching my fist underneath the desk, I respond in an overly prim manner.

"The traitor kept Maetsuki informed about the crucial details of our operation, where the units would land and how we planned to penetrate the fortress. He deserted soon after the defeat."

Three hands fly up in the air at once; one of them is Mikelle's. "Name the traitor, General."

"I will not."

"Why?"

"I prefer to keep such matters private."

"Sephiroth, you cannot avoid answering the question," Lazard hisses into my ear.

"Are you avoiding the answer because the traitor was your close acquaintance or even a friend?"

I rise abruptly, barely holding my anger inside, and coldly proclaim. "Apologies, but I am compelled to demand a brief recess. I need a word with the Director."

Questions hail down upon us as we make our way through the aisle, but not until we leave the hall and find ourselves a small room does the opportunity to express my anger present itself. Turning my back to Lazard, I close the door and grasp the plastic knob with force.

"How many times do I have to explain my reasons to Heidegger before the Board understands that I will not talk about the treason in public?"

"The President is prepared to use any means necessary to swing the pendulum of public's opinion in his favor. He cares not for the fairness of that lieutenant's name."

"_That_ lieutenant served the President and was willing to lay down his life for his cause."

"He deserted, Sephiroth," Lazard says ingratiatingly, shifting from one foot to another.

"He made a choice and if it comes to battle, I will eliminate him. His choice, however, does not diminish his previous merits and does _not_ give you a reason to humiliate him in public."

"Sephiroth, you are taking this a bit too personally."

I sense his weakness. The Director is about to yield. I only require one last argument and so, thoughtlessly, I ask with icy sarcasm.

"Do you insist on me talking to the press only to cater for Mikelle's whims?"

Lazard lets out an audible gasp as if unexpectedly hit below the belt. "You are too young to understand what you are talking about."

"So I am not young to lead our troops or make decisions on the battlefield or kill those fools who don't want to surrender, but I am too young to see through your façade." I turn around, glaring at the Director's sleek face. "I am aware that you and this reporter are having an affair. It wasn't hard to notice. Do you obey her requests to cover up your own private matters?"

Lazard looks at me with the sort of pity a father would gaze at his young, naïve son and then quietly breaths out, "I am not sleeping with Mikelle, Sephiroth. The President is."

**¸.·ˆ¯)(¯ˆ·.¸**

After the press-conference is over, I give a brief call to Genesis when he is about to land in Wutai. We talk about the tactics he might need to use against the enemy and the results of the negotiations with the media. When I retell the argument with the persistent reporter, my lover asks whether I revealed any information about Clark, and I answer that I had not. I managed to insist that I would keep certain matters private no matter the cost.

**¸.·ˆ¯)(¯ˆ·.¸**

That evening, when I am back at my temporary quarters, getting ready to return to the Wutai base the next day (the plan to prepare a small trap for Clark is still in effect), the science department reminds me of its existence. After I had been injured in the shooting, Hojo sent them to perform a yet another assessment of my abilities.

Assessments are not much different from a regular training mission, taking place in a room equipped for generating holographic illusions of settings and enemies. The only distinction is in the small room adjacent to the main premises where the evaluators remain invisible until the test is completed. During a solo training, SOLDIERs can choose when to terminate the mission; during the assessment, the decision is up to the observers.

"Sign the form here, General," one of the junior scientists asks me in a nasal voice, "and enter the room when you are ready."

"What is the challenge this time?"

"Nothing out of the usual. We are lucky you showed up at Junon so soon, otherwise we would have to be stationed here for months. It is harder to call upon you now, when you are the General, than it was when you were merely a SOLDIER."

Harder indeed. I scan through the document and put my signature on the line below.

"I am at your disposal."

The other scientist, a petite woman, nods. "Remember, you are not allowed to use materia. This challenge is meant to assess your fighting skills only."

Now they have aroused my curiosity as well. I took a few of those tests throughout the years and now wonder whether I might do significantly better.

The room appears to be a pentagon, lit up with five blue lights, each of which is situated perfectly in the vertex of the geometrical figure. Once I reach the middle section, it begins to glow, a narrow rectangle with distinct red borders, and a voice rings from the corner.

"Your challenge is to kill all monsters without crossing any of the four lines. If you do, you will fail the test."

Assuming the stance, I draw Masamune, signaling them to begin the challenge. A disorderly cluster of monsters spills out into the open and every single one is a bird – a bird with leathery wings or long, bony beak, or a bird twice the size of a human being. Shin-Ra scientists, contrary to rumors, appear to be gifted with vivid imagination.

Closing my eyes, I point Masamune into the very midst of the masses and let it glide slowly through the air. I don't need to see monsters or their attacks; at times, it is enough to hear them or feel a slight movement of air on my skin. Monsters aren't human; they possess no mind, no fear of death, no determination. They do not dodge thrusts or deceive their opponents. Shin-Ra scientists can not grasp the simple truth that to me, despite the variety of shapes and weapons, they pose no challenge.

The birds jump at once. I give Masamune a wide swing, turning my whole body around, and thin, bright lightning cuts into the black mass. It splits the group in the middle, a razor-sharp, white-hot line of refulgent metal, and artificial monsters begin to crumble, head, wings, and beaks falling at my feet, shattering against the floor. My attack is so powerful that I know I do not need another although I closed my eyes in the middle of the fight. Purposefully. I want it to be a challenge, but even with these restrictions, the test is too easy. Have you become too old, Hojo? Or is it just me to blame and my growing power?

During the whole fight, I do not move and inch.

The illusion shatters into myriads of bright pieces, like a broken puzzle, and I find myself standing in a dark room with only four walls and a mat window in one of them. Lowering the thin blade of Masamune, which is as clean as if I had never taken it out of its sheath, I look for the source of that voice to receive the results of my performance.

Soon, however, I lose my patience.

"Are you satisfied?" I ask the dark glass and with a disparaging shrug of my shoulders head towards the door.

**¸.·ˆ¯)(¯ˆ·.¸**

... That night the dream returns. The setting varies, the colors change, but I know the dream is still the same and so are the words ringing in nothingness.

Dreams are not only jumbled recollections or fancy but also stifled, unfulfilled desires; not simply a reflection of who I were or am, but of who I wish to be.


	23. Chapter XXII

_**A/N: **_The interlude was a pain, but the next chapter will be up sooner. :)

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, AlexJ69, and to Gabriel for (… being gay and pretty, lol) no, actually, for giving me really great and thorough advice on this chapter! *steals your brain and adds to hers* Now I start acting like Jenova…

* * *

_Chapter XXII._

A beep of the phone awakens me. I fumble for the device in my pocket and flip it open, squinting at the message. Sure enough, it is Genesis.

'_We won, Seph!__ I mean we lost the whole unit and half of the village is burnt, but after three hours of battle, they ran. I just thought you should know that it worked. You are a genius!'_

I smile at the unpretentious admiration, which shows in every line of the short message, and lay my fingers onto the small keypad.

'_Do not pursue. __Dispatch someone after them secretly.'_ I move my thumb over to the green _'SEND'_ button, yet do not hasten to press it. The screen glows brightly in the predawn semi-darkness, appearing strangely empty, hinting that I am missing something elusive enough to escape being expressed in words: '_Is Angeal all right?_'

Obviously, if my lover is writing the message, he is not injured.

'_We did not pursue.' _Genesis responds at once. _'Clark disappeared in the forest and we did not venture to get deeper into the unfamiliar territory. Angeal was grazed by a bullet, but he'll be fine. When are you coming?'_

'_I am on my way.' _Through the window of a helicopter, I glance at the smooth surface of the sea, embellished with warm hues of sunrise, and return to the screen. _'I should arrive in an hour at the latest.'_

The screen goes dark for a full minute before lighting up with a ding, displaying a small, blinking envelope in the upper right corner, a sign that I have an unread message.

'_I miss you.'_

I tap my fingers on the screen and, wondering if this is what Genesis expects in return, type, _'I missed you, too.'_

… The village Masumi had chosen for the main base greets me with the dismal frames of burnt houses, dents in the muddy roads, and a smoking ruin of the formerly striking Temple to the Leviathan. When Genesis wrote that half of the settlement was destroyed, he wasn't underestimating the damage. Although several dozen buildings survived the pillaging, the village as a whole, unless diligently rebuilt, would not.

Soldiers sullenly shovel the debris aside, trying to clear some semblance of a path amongst the misshapen houses. Whenever I walk through the living corridor, they look up and mechanically salute. I wonder who displayed such promptness in organizing the infantry, however I didn't have to wonder long; the answer is found soon enough. After giving the next order, Genesis leans against the wall of a house and raises his hand to wipe a perspiring forehead. I cannot say all the decisions came easily to him, but there is a certain air around my lover, which impels me to think that he would succeed in my place. Not that it matters, for I am not planning to abandon my position any time soon, but I can recognize a talent when I see it.

"How do you like your new duties?"

"Sephiroth!" My lover exclaims, startled, "I didn't see or hear you coming. Damn it, I didn't expect you for at least another half an hour! Why are you looking at me like that? You scared me."

Standing next to him, I notice the little signs of fatigue and strain, invisible otherwise – beads of sweat on his upper lip, bags under azure eyes, a nervous, feeble smile.

"Is that your way of saying you are happy to see me?"

"It was a long night, Sephiroth, and I can barely stand straight. Angeal helped me a lot, but the infirmary took him about two hours ago. I am at a loss as to what to do, besides cleaning the obstruction, but that seems obvious." He absent-mindedly draws a circle on the thawed snow with the tip of his boot. "Although at first I decided against it, I left a hasty, inaccurate report on your desk when I thought that you would nonetheless desire to know everything."

"I will read it later. For now, give me a brief description of the situation."

Genesis nods and as tersely as his dramatic way of expressing himself allows retells the events of the night. Nothing unusual happened, which was worth noting, despite the battle being bloody; Lieutenant Clark acted as I thought he would, and the rest my friends handled perfectly, managing to ambush and defeat the superior numbers of the Wutai troops. Though complete, the victory wasn't easy and still we failed to achieve the main objective. My former Lieutenant absconded, once again proving he could be as worthy an adversary as he was an ally.

"Are you disappointed?" The redhead finishes his tale with an unexpected question.

"Why would I be?"

"You could have done it better," there is a spark in Genesis' eyes an instant before he lowers them, obstinately watching trickles of liquid mud on the snow.

I take a step backwards, silently guessing what made my lover think that way seemingly without a reason, and then, still finding none, feel one corner of my mouth rising, "Humph, perhaps, I would have done better, but on a battlefield, success is not so much a question of resources as it is a question of _available_ resources. Even if I tried, I would not be able to arrive at the central base unnoticed. Given the circumstances, you and Angeal were the best option."

I wave my hand towards a building in the distance, one of the lucky few to have survived the battle, and we begin walking in its general direction, adroitly avoiding the ruins.

"When I was five or six, Gast-" I falter for a moment, "_Professor_ Gast and the rest of the Shin-Ra staff I knew often repeated how much President Shin-Ra relied on my abilities. At that time, they had just started training me, making sure I clearly understood from the very beginning that I wasn't meant to fail. It wasn't easy to meet their standards and at first-" suddenly, I smile, "at first, I thought I would never be as good as some of the instructors who worked with me, although they were of older age."

We pass another building, which seems untouched, and through the misted windows, soldiers stare at us with curiosity too obvious to miss. Perhaps to most of them we are still children, foreign and hence feared and mistrusted.

"And?" Genesis eagerly harkens to my ever word.

"Nobody was proud of what I achieved. Not even Hojo. So my motivation was always inherent, coming from the innate desire to surpass and prevail. I found it to be most satisfying." I open the door, letting my lover enter the heated room first. The redhead stomps to shake the snow off his boots and clothes and then slips out of his winter coat, enjoying the contrast between biting frost and relaxing warmth, radiated by a small hearth. "In gaining knowledge and achieving victory I soon found the missing feeling that my existence mattered." I add suddenly, falling silent, but Genesis never settles for less than the whole truth.

"Does it mean that now you feel the same?"

"Now-" I avert my face, resting my palms on the windowsill, "It makes no difference."

"Is this what you keep telling yourself?"

The redhead sounds indignant, the tone all too familiar to leave room for doubt, and the last thing I need now is to add a foolish disagreement with my lover to the mound of paperwork and maps on my desk.

"I don't need to…"

I know I have chosen a wrong start when the redhead interjects, "Seph, how long have we been lovers?"

"About six months…"

"Don't you think I deserve to know what occupies your mind besides me, of course?" When I don't answer, he insists, louder. "Sephiroth?"

"What kind of answers are you expecting?" The snow outside the window merrily glitters in the morning sunlight; it appears that a small corner of the courtyard miraculously remained intact. "My mother died when I was born and left me with very little answers."

There is an awkward pause in the conversation whereupon Genesis continues with caution.

"What about your father?"

"They never told me about him, not even a name was mentioned in passing, so I thought he might as well be insignificant, a chance…" I falter again. Saying this about my mother paints her like a whore and I do not want anyone, especially my lover, to think that way. My mother could not be a woman with no dignity. "I was raised by Gast and Hojo who did not deign to elaborate on the questions I had from early childhood. Professor Gast left when I was six and Hojo-" I cannot hold back a wry smirk, "Asking a wall will yield better results."

On more than a few occasions, Gast and the others repeated that mine was a special existence, but that I understood on my own soon enough. Genesis' gaze is almost palpable, but I pretend that the white scrap of snow linen is a very interesting subject to scrutinize.

"Maybe, you can…"

"I shall continue my search, but in the meantime, we have a war to win." I turn to the uninviting sight of my table strewn with papers nobody bothered to keep in order. My eyes travel along the heap, lingering on the map, a diligent image of the Wutai Island, which hangs on the wall. "Where should we locate our next base? We have a few choices," I circle four black dots on the map with a marker, "None I find completely satisfying, but I would prefer not to move too far in the frost. Soldiers are tired and at that, there is a high risk of finding ourselves in a blizzard, repeating what had occurred in the Yellow Marshes."

"Knowing how much of a perfectionist you are in everything which applies to conventional warfare, I do not wonder why nothing satisfies you. What about that Lieutenant… Clark, wasn't it?" Genesis slowly relaxes, covering a yawn with his left hand; away from the battle, feeling the strain of the aftermath fade, he no longer needs to keep his guard. Such a familiar feeling. "We still need to chase him and put a nail into his coffin."

I nod. "I will use this short respite to refresh myself and then gather the rest of SOLDIER in order to pursue Clark. Where was he heading?" Genesis shows the general direction on the map and it appears to coincide with one of the possible routes of advance. All the better. We need to expand on the territory, which is currently under our control, if only for the reason of fearing to exhaust our resources. I voice out my thoughts and for once Genesis agrees.

"I'll go see Angeal," he adds in conclusion, reminding me that I, too, will need to join him shortly.

And then it happens by itself. Genesis smiles his half-smile, which barely tugs at the corner of his lips, preparing to say something else, and I realize what I had wanted from the moment I stepped out of the helicopter. When was the last time we kissed? Twining my arms around his waist, I resolutely press the redhead's body into mine, locking my lips with his, passionately. He releases a sharp breath into my mouth and nibbles at my bottom lip, his tongue becoming greedy, searching at first, then demanding. Sliding his hands underneath my coat, Genesis stands on tiptoes, reaching out towards me, trembling so easily. Feather-light, his hair touches my cheek. It smells of apples. It always does.

I gently brush it away with gloved fingers.

"What was that about?" Genesis teases.

"I missed you." Loath to let go of my lover, I take a step back and turn to the window with the familiar sight of snow-covered yard in the frame. It keeps drawing my attention, this pristine and peaceful view. The redhead slips out of my arms, quick, vibrant, yet does not leave. "You can go visit Angeal now. I won't keep you any longer."

"Do I need your permission, General? I did not know, but thank you kindly for allowing me to see my friend."

"It isn't worth mentioning."

When my lover leaves, I find the depleted water supply and heat just enough water to clean my hands and face. With the power line and pipes destroyed, all hopes for a shower are lost and so I limit myself, deciding against taking a bath or even washing my long hair. Finding a clean towel also proves to be difficult, but I finally manage to retrieve one from the half-destroyed room in my former private quarters.

After a quick, tasteless meal, I head to the infirmary where, as I was told, Angeal was kept. Knowing that the wound was superficial – hardly a subject of worry – I expect to find my friend in good health, ready to be released. 'Definitely so,' I think, when entering, hear a burst of laughter followed by an incoherent mumble, which can only belong to Genesis, for only he can patter nonsense and still make it sound somewhat enjoyable.

"Come in, Seph, be my guest," Angeal vigorously shakes my hand and before I can recover, drags me into the room. I was not wrong about my lover being there. Genesis sits, comfortably reclining in a chair by my older friend's bed. Before I interrupted, they were playing a game, using cards and dice and, judging by Genesis' smug expression, he had been winning for quite some time. We are alike in our innate desire to prevail, reasonable or not, within or beyond our understanding, and at times, it unites us. Under different circumstances, it, however, causes tension for if there is anyone willing to yield amongst us, it will be Angeal. He can even do it purposefully, but around Genesis he has to be careful, hiding his intentions, for my lover, unlike myself, is intuitive with people. He will notice the change in Angeal's mood or mine before we understand it ourselves. Even my logic sometimes capitulated before his quick wit and inexhaustible wellspring of passion and whereas I regretted not knowing a weapon against him on occasions, I inevitably realized that if I did, I would have never respected him as a friend or accepted him as a lover.

Only challenging battles were memorable, but those which I won quickly, by the power of errorless conclusion and swift decision, never lingered in my memory, having become a part of my boredom.

"I see that you are healthy enough to walk out of the room any time." I turn to Angeal, frowning, "Then why are you still here?"

"Would you like to play a game with us? I will teach you how. It's simple." My older friend moves a chair closer to me.

"But know that I won three games in a row," Genesis adds smugly. "This might not be your or Angeal's day."

So I thought. Often the whole world seems similar – too predictable.

"I have no time," I decline politely but sternly. "I came to see whether you were well and now I will return to the urgent tasks."

A shadow of hurt passes over Angeal's face when he uncouthly moves his injured arm, "Can't you celebrate our victory, however small, without worrying over the next step? The Wutai won't return soon, we took care of that."

"I can't afford to lose again, Angeal."

"Is this about the article in that damn newspaper?" Genesis stretches his legs, "I thought it was taken care of."

I sigh. "I guess no harm will come out of it if I join your game. But I will play only once." Although I agreed, I did so feeling a kind of annoyance which had no known source.

Angeal enthusiastically nods and tells me the rules, which turn out to be simple indeed. Genesis shuffles the cards and places them in the pile on Angeal's bed. We each roll the dice to determine who goes first, and my lover wins hence becoming the one to roll both dice for the number of cards to be drawn from the stack. When we each have cards in our hands, we arrange them in stacks, whose values correspond to the sum of numbers on both dice, then draw again. Genesis scores a few extra points by having cards of exactly the same value as the numbers on both dice, I still win, meticulously arranging my stacks so that often I would have no cards left at the end of my turn.

Unlike human beings, numbers cannot deceive or befuddle me, whether they are casualties on the battlefield, strength of the enemy's army, or simply numerical values of cards in my hands.

Vexed, Genesis throws the cards onto the table and swiftly leaves the room, running into a nameless soldier in the doorway. The latter mumbles a hasty apology, but my lover ignores it, sweeping past him into the neon-lit corridor.

Angeal sends me a '_what did I tell you?_' glance, but even without it I can feel the clouds gathering on a horizon, foreshadowing another argument with my lover.

The clueless soldier salutes, "Forgive my intrusion, General, but she said she could not wait although I…"

"Explain yourself, private."

"The editor-in-chief of the _Daily Reporter_ asked me to find you, Sir."

The name brings unpleasant memories to my mind.

"What does she want?"

He nervously fumbles a blue helmet in his hands, "She did not tell me."

Genesis will have to wait although I prefer it to be otherwise. "Lead the way, private."

…The meeting with Mikelle starts in an unfriendly atmosphere. She arrived at the battlefield wearing high heels, a shirt skirt, and a tight-fitting leather jacket – too many frivolities for me to overlook. She gazes at the insipid surroundings with barely concealed scorn as if for her the room on the field has to look spotlessly clean.

"How do you find yourself these days, General?" She inquires nonchalantly, passing her hand over the desk top and raising her finger to the light with a grimace.

Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall, watching a sunlight spot above Mikelle's head. I could be talking to Genesis or planning the operation to catch Clark, but instead it was required of me to cater to a reporter so that later she would write laud about my deeds.

"My time is limited and valuable so state the reason of your visit and leave. I will not tolerate civilians on the battlefield."

The editor-in-chief mockingly shakes her head and the impression of a predator or a bird of prey she created before deepens.

"I would say you woke up in a foul mood, General. There is no need to be so… cold with me."

"Is there a different reason for your presence other than this pointless word play?"

She extends me the newspaper, "I wanted to show you what we printed the other day and perhaps persuade you to reveal the traitor's name. It has already caused a stir among the population, but I never promised the President an easy fight. Ike has his sources and without something tangible, a successful siege of the Wutai capital or else, our competitor will continue gaining profit from his constant audience. Shin-Ra isn't all that well-received in many political circles, you know."

While she speaks, I look through the article with a promising name, _Heroic effort of Shin-Ra Electric Company on the Wutai battlefield forestalled by a traitor._ It barely mentions my name, focusing on the previous general and his plan, but then on the next page I discover another article – _A new General appointed by the Shin-Ra Board of Directors: exclusive details about his past feats and future goals_. They even acquired my picture somehow, one of those few taken by Fort Tamblin where I achieved my first and fleeting triumph.

"Are you implying that the name of the traitor will attract more attention than both of these articles?" I ask, lowering the newspaper.

Mikelle attempts to coax me into revealing the information using her saccharine voice, not knowing that I was immune to women's charms, "Currently, the public blames every Shin-Ra official for what had happened at Maetsuki's fort. People always love to find scapegoats for their frustration, choosing the most obvious figures. The President's and, I suppose, Lazard's and your reputations suffer the most. When we give them the name of the traitor, they will have a tangible object to vent their vexation upon, willingly forgetting other names they used to associate with the source of misfortunes. It is a game of manipulating the public's opinion." Rummaging in her purse, she procures a pack of cigarettes and lights one. "Care for a smoke?"

I stroll from the wall to the window and back. What Mikelle says makes sense, but at the same time, the public's opinion never bothered me because, whether the people's impression of me is favorable or malevolent, it does not change how good of a SOLDIER I am.

"As much as I want to see reason in your thoughts, I will not make any deals with your newspaper. I will maintain the traitor's confidentiality."

She takes a puff on her cigarette, holding it between two thin, elegant fingers. "Frankly, I didn't expect a different answer, General. You reputation already precedes you. It's my job to search for gossip and I have heard quite a few intriguing rumors from various sources. Some say that you are cold and unforgiving, especially towards mistakes made in the line of duty, others can't tolerate a thought that you are young, and then there are those who suggest you are a brilliant prodigy. I find all those qualities very appealing."

"Is this why you are having an affair with the President? Of course, he is hardly young…"

If I expected any reaction other than a heartfelt chuckle, I had to admit my defeat. Then her shoulders shake with laughter and ash falls onto her immaculate blouse, which she brushes off with a graceful movement of her wrist.

"You have quite the sense of humor, General, sarcastic and dry. Sometimes it seems that they lied to me about your birth-year. My _arrangement_ with Mr. President is strictly business-related and is hardly meant to be pleasurable for me. On the other hand, you could…" her eyes travel along the length of my body, "in bed you would be something else entirely."

Suddenly, I feel a surge of amusement. This woman somehow intrigues me, not as an object of desires, but as a minute enigma I cannot, but desperately want to understand, finding myself, like a child, fascinated by a foreign concept of her views. Akin to it was my curiosity towards a cube with two glass prisms. "Do you regard them as a collection of trophies?"

"Maybe," She doesn't deny or confirm anything I say. It is clearly a familiar game for her, hence the aura of lenience and confidence does not surprise me. "I won more men in my life than you did battles."

I pour her a glass of water, losing whatever momentary interest I had in this discourse, "I am not a trophy, and it will serve you well to remember that."

Mikelle takes a sip from the glass, frustrated but not quite, and extinguishes her cigarette.

"Life is a whimsical bitch," a wry smile distorts her features, "so fuck it, General, and fuck it hard."

When the editor-in-chief finally leaves, I am still asking myself whether the way she phrased her last sentence spoke more about how she viewed herself than life.

**¸.·ˆ¯)(¯ˆ·.¸**

When the evening comes, it begins to snow. Large flakes swarm in the air, clinging to the ruins, covering the rimed windows, and the lights, blinking underneath the soldier's tents, fade under the impenetrable white veil. It is cold in the room occupied by at least two dozen SOLDIERs besides my friends and I. The amount of intact buildings is scarce to shelter everyone therefore I allowed privates and other lower ranking members of the Shin-Ra army to be housed with the elite. Bodies quiescently lie on the barren floor and only rarely does a dark cocoon move when a SOLDIER shifts uncomfortably on the floor. My sleeping bag is between Angeal's and Genesis', but this is as close as I can be with my lover without attracting undesired notice.

It seems that both of my friends are asleep. I can see the faint clouds of vapor escaping my lover's mouth and hear his breath, but the stillness and placidity do not mollify the burning anxiety despite my efforts. Finally, I scramble out of the sleeping bag and through the door, slip into the snow-covered street. Clouds scud across the sky and through the long rents in them, shines a thin crescent of a new-born moon. The smell of burnt flesh and death has faded, but every so often the wind wafts the scent of war and human excrements.

Slowly, I sink onto the nether step of the small porch.

After Mikelle's visit, an order came directly from the President's office, which meant that I could not veto it. The seals and the official documents eliminated the possibility of a fraud or treason, but the contents filled me with doubts I could not shake off. The President himself ordered our units not to pursue Clark and let him escape although we could have easily tracked my former Lieutenant down. I called Lazard, demanding an answer, but the Director could only vaguely surmise about the reasons why Arthur Shin-Ra no longer wanted a swift victory.

A light tap on the shoulder alerts me to my lover's presence. I turn around, but there is no one behind, only white snowflakes glisten on my uniform.

"Genesis?"

Although we never talked after his outburst in the infirmary, the redhead acted as if nothing had happened and I decided not to dwell on the subject.

"I saw you outside," the redhead approaches me with a snowball in his hands, "and thought something was bothering you."

I nod. "I did not want to wake you up."

"So tell me," he tosses up the white globe, but it crumbles in his hands when he tries to catch it, "since I cannot fall asleep either."

Instead of discussing the President's decision, I quote from the book I read in the library before the conference in Junon.

"Have you ever heard of people who could revive wood and grow flowers on dead stones?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I thought you might have seen mentions of them because of your liking for the ancient lore. There was a particular name there, _Lάrke__, _and he had uncanny abilities, which I thought could be a figment of someone's imagination, but then I saw similar descriptions in other tomes. One legend may lie, even two, but three or four independent sources mentioning the same fact cannot be simply a coincidence or deception."

Genesis frowns in concentration, "Sorry, Seph, I haven't seen that name. The legends I read never mentioned people who can grow flowers on dead stones."

We are silent for a while; then the redhead tosses his head back and adds, "Look at the distant stars. Aren't they beautiful?"

I follow his gaze, but instead of stars, see the windows and bright lights of a huge city with buildings adorned with curved roofs. Ahead, the capital waits for us with Clark's and Maetsuki's forces between me and the final, crushing victory over Wutai.

* * *

END OF EPISODE II

**Interlude IV. Traveler of the Lifestream****. Part I. **

_A long muzzle of solid steel protruded rather too far into the darkness and, blending with it, appeared to have vanished and left a thin, silver silhouette floating above the vast of the Great Sea__. The sunset drowned in heavy billows, having painted the waters in gold and mauve, a shadow of the fading day's smile. The man with waist-length silver hair stood motionless, absorbed in thought or engrossed in mindless contemplation of the scenery, in a pose, which could not betray his mood: head was resting on his broad chest in a calm, stately manner, straightened shoulders, encased in iron pauldrons, hid even the slightest traces of weariness, and a wave of silver slumbered on his upright back, curbed, placid, utterly innocuous. Piercing green eyes vied with the color and the intensity of the storm. _

_W__hat the man was thinking somehow seemed important. _

…The splitting pain was green, seeping through veins like liquid fire, only there were no veins to feel the rupture although at times, it almost felt like they still existed. His mind tried to make sense of it, of the feeling that existed and at the same time didn't, and they laughed at the vanity of his obstinate attempt to find an explanation, which would remain within a frail boundary of human reason.

They. Invisible. Inexistent. All around him.

"Don't try," gently, softly. "Blend with us. Become us. Individuality is meaningless, always was. In the multitudes, it comes in various shapes and colors, a motley cover for something of the same content. What would you lose but a self-established mirage of _identity_? What is identity, truly? The way you look, the way you talk, you think? Change the color of your hair and eyes, the alluring shapes of your face; steal your memories, both joyous and painful, destroy your body, and yet would it change _you_, the invisible holder of that delusional idea of self-awareness?"

He protested, inwardly. They laughed again and again with softness.

"What are you then – your strife, your flame, your vengeance, a candle nearly blown-out – or, perhaps, a story told for a thousandths time of undying love and a spirit drawn to the world of living by the sole purpose of making things right? Forget it, let go. Blend with us, with a thousand stories like yours, with ten thousand struggles like yours, and with a myriad of feelings just like yours."

Inexistent lips, still somehow glued with coagulated blood, moved, whispering with maddening stubbornness, "Not… like… mine. I am… different."

Laughter rang like a lugubrious knell, pouring into invisible ears, bursting within, "You claim to be stronger. How?"

The dry paint on a canvas was crumbling.

_The veil of light rain shrouded the cannon and the silver silhouette__ upon it, yet the iron surface did not boil up with bubbles, as if the water fell through the solid steel, through the armature and stone, and not a trace of moist was visible on the pale skin. _

_The rain was foreign, as though added in haste by a hand of an unskilled artist. _

"Mine always was a special existence…"

Existence, a pure and purposeless state, devoid of artificial tinsel – the social role, the designated status, and the outlook of others – existence preceded the essence and defined him long after the essence seemed lost.

_The man __boldly stood in flames. His legs tangled in the crimson tongues, as though in long stalks of withered autumn grass, and crimson sheens danced along the enormous length of his blade. _

"Don't you want peace?" They asked, sounding confused – if a void, of course, could be confused.

Peace? Did he ever desire peace? Wasn't his birth and existence the very embodiment of war? _The monsters jumped at once. The man gave his long sword a wide swing, turning his whole body around, and thin, bright lightning cut into the black mass. It split the group in the middle, a razor-sharp, white-hot line of refulgent metal, and artificial monsters began to crumble, head, wings, and beaks falling at his feet, shattering against the floor. Amazed, the redhead _(… so familiar, the name, the face, the glance, which recurred so often on those shreds of images) _turned to the man with silver hair and said, "To you, the war is like literature to me. When you fight, your sword becomes an extension of your hand as the word is the extension of my thought."_

Angels with bound wings sat on perches, resembling ruffled birds… What a preposterous image, befitting this incongruous world…

_The man in the flames slowly turned and walked away__. Gently swaying with each step, silver hair blended with crimson, remaining, as its holder, untouched by the tempest, which raged across the small village. The fire shunned him in fear or awe, and with each step the walls of a cage crumbled, a cage so old and strong, but from the sheer force of the tempest, of fury, of pain, it cracked. _

The mind was his cage – not fate or circumstances – but his own mind, where thoughts were iron bars and natural limits – walls of his prison cell. There, within his mind, he met his true self face to face.

There, in his mind, he was overwhelmingly, inescapably alone.

_Faced with the frightening, inhuman liberation – a path so many would fear to take – t__he man in the flames was smiling. The cage grew decrepit, and inside, the mighty wings flew open, their tethers bursting, freeing an entity so curious, so greedy, and it had quickly outgrown one world as a child his well-worn rags. Outgrew and shook it off. _

It was time for him to embrace the inevitable and discard the unreliable instrument of human reasoning as useless; that reasoning was as absolute as a thought of an ant, impeccable while remaining within the anthill, but then a man stepped on it. Ants bit him, awakening his fury, and having stomped the small hump of dirt, he walked further in merry spirits, feeling no grief or guilt for the dead ants.

Ants. Humans. Gods.

Anthill. World. Universe.

Ants desired the whole world to abide by their laws, imposing them on us_, _using_ us_. Us? There were no _us_, just him and…

…_But do not__ be sad anymore, Mother. I am here, with you. _

Mother?

_There was a woman's face imbedded into the wall, nothing m__ore than an iron mask, and above it, a pair of wings spread proudly. Feathers, cast from steel, were shot with eerie hues of green and silver. In hollow sockets, faintly glimmered the crimson coal of someone's gaze. With inhuman strength, the man tore off the sophisticated machine and discarded it into the pit below. With a screech, it tumbled down headlong, leading a waterfall of smaller stones and dust, and when the reactor's crater narrowed, wings broke, ending their fall in the pool of liquid mako; wings of an iron angel. _

_Underneath the mask, there appeared to be another visage__: pale-blue skin, soft features, framed in a halo of floating silver hair, an elegant bow of lips – a visage he so often saw in the mirror, tormented with numerous questions, only gentler, more feminine. Frail. _

_His gloved hand touched the glass, lightly, caressingly, with curiosity, without words speaking of secrets held dear and questions, which finally had answers. _

Long ago, clueless, he was told that his mother died giving birth to him. He was deceived to be used in a human conquest of power while his mother, half-alive, served as a source of cells, which made an army so strong that the world bowed to it. Long ago, he believed himself to be human although the doubt was always there, eating him up since he could remember himself, and so he searched with diligence and unwavering determination until the revelation was discovered (… _My mother's name is Jenova... Jenova Project... Is this just a coincidence?_). After all those years, how could he not accept that indeed he was something else? Something different, greater?

… _Whether your words are lies, created to deceive me, or the truth I have thought all my life…_

… all his life… He doubted everything since he was a child…

"We see now," the voice was heard from everywhere and from nowhere. "You are a stubborn one, but whatever you seek, whatever you desire, it ends here, amongst us. You will only make it harder for yourself, but eventually, coming to realize our rightness, you will give in. You will become us."

He did not respond and the voice faded although _they_ did not withdraw; in a way, they could not because he was with _them_, he was _them_…

The man stood on the brink of abyss, and behind his back spread a pair of iron wings.

The rain fell through the muzzle of the Great Junon canon…

Fire… Awe… _Masamune flew through the air, plunging into the quagmire. __The environs flared up with colorless flames, their outlines distorted in a ghostly wave that swept over the marsh a few inches above the water, and when the crescent tore through its body, the beast tumbled down. _

The pictures changed like drawings on cards, shuffled in a deck.

_The cold lab was flooded with white neon light, which made it hard to look at sparkling steel of several cylinders that surrounded a device akin to a huge transparent capsule. Dark-green liquid slowly boiled inside, and a man in a white smock stood therebeside, from time to time inputting new settings into his computer and making notes as the contents changed color to nearly refulgent emerald._ _When that malignant and puny old man looked up, he was smiling – as though baring an old, ugly scar – because he knew, he felt something others had yet to grasp. One day he would cackle, boasting that he created a god; created him from scratch, priding himself on madness dressed in a mask of science and eugenics. _

_He created a god from his own child._

_Someone else had to pay the price. _

Why was he seeing this? Was it his or a glimpse into memories, which were _foreign_ like the rain cloaking the Great Junon canon? It seemed familiar and yet could he think that it was a part of his once unbroken integrity?

The stream carried him onward. He did not resist. Thin flourishes of memories sparked in the green whirlpool of many more, which did not belong, extraneous, disproportional, pieces of _them_, of _us_, but not of an entity he called _I_…

_But __there, in the flames, it was I who walked._

I?

_"You are not the Sephiroth I once knew…"_

Then, perhaps, they simply did not know him at all… It resembled an abrupt awakening.

_I am Sephiroth…_


	24. Chapter XXIII

_**A/N: **_I realized I missed writing from Seph's POV in a strange way. The relationship between an author and the characters, even in fanfiction, is… insane by default. :)

Thanks for being patient!

Special dedication goes to Gabriel and Twiggy because I love them both. And Cookie, too. Yes, the infamous scene. :P

* * *

**"**…_**You keep feeding me distractions**__**,**__**  
**__**Feeding me lies,**__**  
**__**But I know the truth is there**__**  
**__**In fragments,**__**  
**__**in bits**__**  
**__**and pieces…" ('Endogenesis', Tristania)**_

EPISODE III

FRAGMENTS OF TRUTH

_Chapter XXIII_

_Ever since I was a child, I knew that the world around me was full of illusions, of persistent and unpleasant lies, which everyone used to hide something, and each day they devised a new pretence, a different excuse, an original, elaborate disguise. _

_For example, once Professor Gast told me, smiling, that he was promoted and given a new assignment to further test a theory of his, but I knew that his joy was fake, a comfortable lie to convince me he wasn't frustrated, to which I replied that I didn't like being lied to. He was genuinely taken aback, having decided to conceal his confusion with a feeble attempt to accuse me, in a jocular manner, of being young and inquisitive, and too rash in my conclusions. But I knew how they lied. When I had nothing else to do, I wandered around the labs and watched them laughing or arguing, expressing sadness, anger, or joy; I listened to what they said, remembering every intonation, every word because all of it excited me in its novelty. _

_At times, I thought my interest in people resembled my curiosity about inanimate objects, like the Lummer-Brodhun cube, a device with two glass prisms to compare the intensity of light beams, and that in a similar way people, too, could be solved. When I was seven, I unraveled the cube's mystery, which used to fascinate me for a whole year, and showed the results to Hojo._

"_Good, very good," he said, having given the intricate details of my solution a fleeting glance, and noted a few words on his pad. _

_I stood, waiting and failing to understand what it was that I so patiently expected from a man who countless times proved to me how pointless my hopes had been. I stood, waiting, for a few words, perhaps, a sign even – something besides this utter indifference, which I learned to despise, which I loved to despise – but _my father_ never had it in him to say he was proud of what I accomplished. And yet, I did not harbor a lot of feelings towards Hojo, contempt aside, for he helped me become the general I am today, helped in his own way and for it, I could not hate him. _

_I still recall a day when I realized how weak and narrow-minded he was hence I never addressed him as Professor afterwards – even in my thoughts – reserving the title, as a sign of respect, for Gast who I deemed deserved it. That day I even laughed at my naïve desire to receive Hojo's approval for I needed none. _

_Orphans, like me, become the most efficient killers because they have nothing to lose. _

**¸.****·****ˆ****)(****ˆ****·****.¸**

The cloth above the entrance swings in the gust of wind, revealing a scrap of fire-tinged skies, and through it a smell of charred wood penetrates my tent. Cherry trees burn in full blossom and their lone silhouettes with black, mutilated branches, stand against the wall of fire like brave soldiers, to the last breath. A man, hiding his bloody face, enters and it takes me a few moments to recognize Kyle.

"We must signal the retreat, General."

Again. A phrase, which I had been hearing through the telephone for the last few days, was pronounced differently every time, but never with such grim determination. Helplessly, I lean against the table, strewn with maps, and think. Shin-Ra a few months back, when it was still winter, decided that it no longer needed a swift victory, but a slow, painful, bloody war, which could last for years. The Wutai, now led by Clark who knew Shin-Ra all too well, grew bolder every day, attacking our positions along the railroads, plundering encampments in villages and supply trains, and withdrawing before our troops readied themselves for battle. The diminished elite, numbering barely a few dozens SOLDIER members after the disaster at Maetsuki's fortress, could not be present everywhere and even, granted that it gave assistance, the infantry's state – its ineffective command, poor ammunition and logistics – brought our efforts to naught. I did not understand why the officials sent us into combat without regards to our interests, why they played such an intricate game with the enemy, yet nonetheless we, by sheer effort of volition, emerged victorious. We lost battles, but never a large campaign. Bleeding, sacrificing soldiers for every scrap of land, we advanced because such was the order, the senseless, ruthless, empty order.

It was the fourth day of battle for Dong Ha, a small city with a pier for fishing boats, which Genesis and his unit set ablaze yesterday during a successful maneuver at the rear of the Wutai forces, and the flames had been incessantly burning ever since, spreading onto the grove of cherry trees and then – onto the group of nearby buildings. The rainless spring favored the enormous fire, which by now both our forces and Clark's avoided equally heedfully. And yet, notwithstanding the disadvantageous conditions, my former Lieutenant refused to relinquish his positions as though he knew that I, being resolute in my pursuit of triumph, would fight for every street and building.

On the third day even the sight of my own troops, wounded and emaciated, elicited deep frustration and anger. Demoralized by countless rumors, which circulated in the army, multiplying like heads of a mythical hydra and giving cause for the soldiers to talk about Shin-Ra abandoning the war effort in Wutai, about weapons and monsters developed in secret, the infantrymen went into battle as though it was their last. I could not be present on the field in many places at once; other commanders proved to be unreliable and in the end, the crucial element of my understanding was missing as well. Why? Why did Shin-Ra order me to change strategy?

It was a road towards imminent disaster.

I cast a furtive glance at the infantry Lieutenant to my left. In silence, he is looking at me, and his lips are pressed into a taut line.

"Signal the retreat," I finally announce, and he picks up the radio, his features easing at the very moment my order reaches someone on the battlefield.

"The General ordered to withdraw."

To hide my frustration, I unsheathe Masamune and walk out of the tent.

**¸.****·****ˆ****)(****ˆ****·****.¸**

…_Lazard offers me a glass of water, which I coldly refuse. Dim light floods the room and occasionally, in darkness behind the window, flaming zigzags blaze up on the silent vast of the welkin and fade, always falling short of skyscrapers by what it seems like mere inches; a simple optical illusion. The approaching spring storm appears to be rather foreboding of the conversation, which I begin abruptly, without a pleasant foreword._

"_Why did they change the orders, Lazard?"_

_The Director takes off his white gloves and throws them onto the table, "I don't know, Sephiroth. I know it is not within my power to forbid you to ask this question, but I will tell you this: the President is determined to take a slower course of action and he is prepared to go as far as demoting you. If you interfere, of course…" he adds after our eyes meet. In the darkness behind me, another lightning flits across the sky, its ghostly shadow lingering on Lazard's face for a moment. _

"_Who will fight for him if not I?" I allow myself a smirk, feeling confidence for the outcome of this discourse. "Who do you think he is trying to fool? Himself? If I do not gain a victory over Clark soon, the media and the Wutai will tear him apart and…"_

_Angered, I falter, searching for the words to paint a realistic picture to a man who in his life had never set foot on a battlefield, who spends more hours choosing a new suit than contemplating a strategy, and who, while not a fool, displays too much lenience to his alleged father's orders. _

"_No, no, there exists no such order, which prevents you from winning." _

"_This is what you think. And while directly no one had told me so, what else can these instructions signify?" I nod towards the papers I brought with me to the brief meeting in Junon, the only place close enough to the Wutai front where we can meet uninterrupted and without fear to be overheard. "The President, at first, prevented me from crushing Clark's advance in winter, then refused to provide reinforcements… Doesn't he understand what the delays are fraught with? The Wutai will recuperate and regroup if they hadn't done so yet and in addition to this threat, I received reports about the enemy consolidating in the south under Maetsuki's command… I brought them to his notice, but to no avail. What does my position mean?"_

_Lazard helplessly shrugs his shoulders, "What do you expect me to tell you? I don't know, Sephiroth, I cannot influence the President, but at least I might find you an explanation if it is what you want."_

_I turn towards the tall window to watch another lightning cut through the thick clouds, cut abruptly, mercilessly, and I picture the glorious flash of Masamune, cutting through the cloud of ash. Hojo taught me indifference, which I learned well, better than he expected, changing even without my knowledge – after the slaughter at Aichi, after a year of war, slowly, until it dawned upon me one day…_

"_It is not enough to try," I reply, quietly. "I will obey the order, despite knowing the consequences, because I cherish my reputation and career; I will send them to die, aimlessly, for your President's obscure ambitions, but don't expect any comforting news from the battlefield."_

**¸.****·****ˆ****)(****ˆ****·****.¸**

The fire burns high and wide, slowly fighting its way into the depth of Dong Ha despite the efforts Turks under Tseng's command apply to quench it. It sizzles, now and then even retreats a few dozen of feet only to flare up brighter, wilder, as though mocking our short triumph. Infantrymen sit on the ground without looking where, clutching helmets and rifles in their hands. They look tired, defeated.

Above, on the colorless welkin, hangs the unmoving white-hot disk of the sun, mercilessly scorching sweating reddened faces.

"Where is the commander of the Omega Unit?"

"We don't know, General," replies one of the Turks. "We lost communication with him about two hours ago."

"Wasn't it the task you were instructed with, Tseng?"

"It was," the head of the Turks covers his face to protect it from heat, "and we did what we could…"

"You did what was humanly possible, is it what you say?"

"We tried… but under the heavy canon fire…"

I raise my hand, as if waving away an importunate fly, "Spare me."

Genesis is either with Angeal or in hell on the front lines, where the Omega Unit is.

To stifle aggravation and anxiety, I walk up and down the pier, halting upon hearing heavy footsteps.

"Sephiroth, the Omega Unit is in danger."

Angeal appears out of the thick cloud of acrid smoke, carrying his sword on his shoulder, and even from afar I notice bloody stains on its wide blade. Faithful to an old oath of his, my older friend rarely uses his main weapon in battle and a mere sign he did is thus a subject of worry.

"What happened?"

"They were cut off when the Wutai began bombing the village. My unit was close, but an order from the main headquarters prevented me from sending any help," He looks at me, frowning, "Where is Genesis?"

I bow my head. No, it could not be.

"… _You cannot order me to stay near the base!" Genesis' mouth is distorted by a spasm, and a grimace, however brief, renders his features unattractive, "How many times during the last month was I magnanimously allowed to take part in fighting? Goddess, how could you think that I would never understand…"_

_I lift my eyebrows, unfazed by one of his outbursts. I got used to them. _

"_I do what is necessary to turn the tide of war."_

"_Suit yourself… but let me say just this once that I don't believe you. I don't want to believe you; you with your rightness and… very noble goals…"_

"_What noble goals?" I smile ironically. _

"_The war is above all, isn't it? Although you can be an attentive lover, when battle grips your attention, in sudden blindness, you no longer see…"_

"_What?"_

"_It is your fault that I am here, bound by your ambitions, whilst every day they need me in the fierce battle on the front lines. And think of it: by myself, I can take on Clark and every single one of his subordinates… You are too cautious and too inattentive to my desires."_

_There is something in his eyes, usually beautiful and lucid, that I do not like. Silently, I write an official order and calligraphically sign it… _

Shaking off memories, I beckon Angeal to the side, where no one will hear my words, and even so, speaking, lower my voice to a whisper, "Yesterday Genesis _asked_ me – and you know he can be persuasive – to sign an order, appointing him to the Omega Unit. He knew it was a unit I chose to strike at the enemy's rear."

"How typical of him," Angeal mumbles to himself with another worried frown.

"Tell me what happened."

"There isn't much to say, Sephiroth. When the Wutai fired their cannons, a colonel from the Beta Unit retreated into the positions, which the Omega Unit occupied. Due to a communication failure, Omega Unit opened fire, utter chaos ensued – you can imagine – and before they got a chance to sort out the situation, the Wutai resumed aimed artillery bombardment. As a result, the remains of both units were trapped between the road and the forest, cut off by Clark's forces. They hold their ground, however, unless Genesis does something insane…" He shakes his head.

A low howl interrupts our conversation and, raising splashes of water, a shell drops into the river, followed shortly by another one, which lands closer to the pier. Infantrymen, who rested on the wooden flooring, jump up and in disorder pour into the sheltered street behind us. Commanders snap out orders at the top of their lungs to drown the rhythmic thumps of falling shells. Planks fly up, breaking in the air, their shards raining down upon the pier and striking running soldiers in the back. One of them awkwardly flings his arms and tumbles into the river.

Unexpected though it was, I recover quickly.

"Let's go."

Angeal throws an irresolute glance at me, "What are we to do?"

"We need a plan."

After giving quick orders to seek cover and ready the infantry for battle, I return to the headquarters, or rather a tent that temporarily, until the evening, serves us as such. My older friend comports himself with calmness, unfolding a map of Dong Ha, while I request satellite images from Junon.

A long day may be in the offing and even a longer night afterwards.

**¸.****·****ˆ****)(****ˆ****·****.¸**

… _Our lips are locked in passion, in reciprocal desire to please each other, which grows stronger the closer Genesis' slender body shifts to mine. His hands skim along the length of my thighs, and the touch alone, however light, arouses instantly. I catch them and resolutely place where I want them to be the most, where the caress – even through leather – affords instant, sharp pleasure. Closer. _

_I am not in the mood for anything slow or gentle, yielding to an inner call quite primitive, which, however, my logic cannot resist; or, rather does not want to. I am too close to the state, which I can compare to battle frenzy; perhaps, not as strong, but certainly as thrilling. Almost… uncontrollable. _

_Genesis moves away for a moment to slip out of his shirt and slowly removes the only article of clothing I am still wearing, the black leather pants. Then, his eyes never leaving mines, the redhead kneels between my legs. Closing my eyes, I grip his naked shoulder. _

_The first gentle touch of his lips, the first stroke of his tongue, I do not sense, but then the warmth spreads, pleasure mounts inside, and, rewarding him, I release my breath with a faint moan. Genesis knows when and what to do to please me the most, to prolong the sensation, to make me forget everything in the wild abandon of his caresses._

_Faster. _

Our lives were like that for quite some time, six, maybe even seven months. Days began with battles and ended in bed when we, flushed with desire, which the blood we spilled only inflamed, relived the moments of mortal danger, moments of feeling invincible, moments of strange elation, having surrendered ourselves to the mercy of the final passion – lust.

Were these two passions, triumph and lust, much the same?

I open my eyes and absent-mindedly peer into the creeping mist. If it does not clear by nightfall, another hindrance to the plan will have to be dealt with. Possibly, it means that only I, Angeal, and another SOLDIER will come to Genesis' aid – yes, it often feels that the war revolves solely around me and him. Mikelle? I rarely remember her and her petty whims. The President is too far away as is Heidegger and the rest of the Shin-Ra Board of Directors.

… _When Genesis relieves me of the pent-up tension, he licks his sensual lips. His deceivingly coy eyes openly betray the similar hunger as he gazes at me – I imagine, I am breathless, covered in disheveled silver hair – and laughs. Softly. Deceptively softy. In darkness, his shapes are even more graceful, more exquisite and I instantly feel another surge of desire – simple, uncurbed wants to please and satiate him in turn. _

_I run my hands along my lover's body, playing with the buckle of his belt until he utters a frustrated moan. But why I, being satisfied already, should hurry to grant his craving for delight? I ignore the visible signs of his arousal, instead kissing his neck, and although Genesis enjoys it, I sense that soon he would demand more. Propping myself on the elbow, I slip my hand into his pants, roughly stroking the bulge, and, throwing his head backwards, the redhead moves his hips to show how much he welcomes my attention. I share his strain, I hear his quiet gasp, I feel the obvious response when I squeeze fingers on my left hand and eagerness, with which he arches towards the touch. _

_I like thinking that I am the only one who can make him feel this way. _

I shake my head, fighting back haunting images. Somewhere behind the window, short bursts of machine gun fire disturb the evening quiescence and fade for a while, until cicadas resume chirring in the distant trees. The horizon is still aglow with the reflections of immense fire.

"Don't worry too much, Sephiroth," my friend's voice rings from behind. He cannot guess what thoughts have occupied my mind so that I kept aimlessly pacing up and down the small room for hours, pausing only to observe the battlefield to-be.

It isn't even the worry for my lover's fate that disquiets me – by now I learned to trust in Genesis' abilities – but recollections and thoughts, which inevitably follow. _What if…_

Hands locked behind my back, I turn abruptly, "Humph, it would be fair only if you stopped worrying as well."

"What had gotten into you, my friend?"

"What makes you think…"

"Sephiroth," Angeal conciliatory smiles, "you have been dashing around this room like a caged animal for an hour. I am not prying into your private life with Genesis, but as a friend…"

"So that is what friends are for," I reply coldly, "To give useless advices."

Angeal sighs, but says nothing.

… _Genesis, as we abandon ourselves to pleasure, can be quite vocal. It was a random discovery for I certainly did not expect him to cry out my name – the shortened version of it – in the most passionate moment of his release. It didn't startle me as much as amused, and after that one time, he became even more daring to try something new with me._

_And so, upon completion he moans my name and frees his hands from the tangle of long silver locks, wearily dropping them onto the sheets. The delicate cast of his features, bearing traces of sweat, relaxes, and with a lazy smile, Genesis lies there, satisfied, fatigued, his ardor finally, even if for a short while, mollified. I do not move, looking at him intently. Asking whether he enjoyed the act is a needless waste of words. _

_Suddenly, he raises himself a little and, flipping an unruly auburn fringe, carelessly asks, "Sephiroth, are we doing it right?"_

"Huh? What is it that we aren't doing right?"

I flinch, realizing that I had spoken my last words aloud.

"No, I was thinking of something utterly unrelated to our plan."

"What's on your mind?"

My eyes meet Angeal's with reluctance, "Genesis."

That fond smile returns to his lips at the brief mention of my lover, leaving me to wonder once again what it is that they shared before we met and whether I can be – no, not a part of that past, but a harmonious supplement to their friendship.

Or will it always be me and Genesis or Genesis and him?

"Oh, he can be quite a handful. We grew up together, remember? Let me tell you one story." He reclines in the chair and its back creaks as if about to break. "I lived with my mother and my father then, one among many kids in Banora whose family tried to make ends meet. We often used to go to the rich farm and take a couple of apples to eat. I bet you would, too – Banora apples are just so delicious. But, rumor had it, that the biggest tree grew only in one garden in the whole village, and that garden, let me tell you, was huge, the envy of every boy and girl I knew. We used to stare at it from the distance, imagining how it would be to live in that stately manor, surrounded by luxury… when I met Genesis, I learned that my envy was unfounded and that I was the lucky one while he… But this is not so important for my story. We, kids, didn't understand many things. Tilling the land was a blessing. Having a family dinner after a long, hard day of work was a blessing. We didn't understand that. We dreamt about the forbidden apples from the biggest apple tree in town. And one day I dared to climb over that high fence into the garden and there, drowning in green grass, arched across the span of the small yard the most majestic apple tree I've ever seen. Its trunk was smoky white and the apples… I thought I could stare at it forever. Imagine my surprise, however, when I understood I wasn't alone. By the arch of the tree, sat a small redheaded boy with a book."

"Genesis."

"Yes, Genesis. I remember how I saw him that day. It wasn't the first time I've seen him because we lived in the same small village and he was the mayor's son, but we never met face to face before. He looked differently than others, so frail in his immaculate clothes, but no, not shy at all. It was early in the morning, and I was certain nobody would be in the garden, birds aside. I was befuddled, at first, then frightened, and fear rooted me to the ground, which made an escape impossible. I stood, like a fool looking at the boy, until he rose, calm and unabashed, and spoke. I still remember his words, simple as they are, as if he had spoken them just yesterday. 'If you came for apples, take as many as you want,' he said. And he looked… so alone that I felt shame I came for the apples and not for him. I lied about why I sneaked into the garden. He nonetheless gave me fruit, but that day I walked away from that garden with more than ripe apples. I walked away with seeds of friendship."

_Another lecture_, I think to myself, frowning with growing annoyance because Angeal's words did not brighten a question, adding more obscurity instead. However, I do not get to learn whether there was more to his story because an unfamiliar man in the colonel's uniform flings the door open and announces, "General, there is firing in the streets, soldiers are running, panicking… the rumor has it that the Wutai received reinforcements and…"

"Who started the rumor?"

"There was a commotion…"

"Sephiroth, let's go," Angeal rises and at a brisk pace exits the house.

… The immense crowd, running into hundreds, spread over the square, having lost any traces of order: soldiers perched on the porches, on the fences and window ledges to get a better view of the commotion and a person at its center. He is flinging his arms, pointing into one direction where all heads turn, and screams, "The Wutai breached our defenses! The Wutai are coming!" Those who hear his words dash towards the opposite side of the square, running into the inflow of soldiers from barracks, and the bustle grows louder. No one controls the crowd. Abandoned to their own fears, infantrymen run every which way, guided by the most primitive instincts of survival.

A SOLDIER to my left stands, helplessly mumbling through his teeth, "Shit, man, that's bad. Very bad."

Angeal loses his composure first; rushing towards the center of the turmoil, he elbows his way through the multitudes of people until he reaches the yelling man and activates the fire materia. I briefly feel his interaction with the Planet, and then, from under our feet, fire shoots up, forcing everyone within a few feet radius to recoil.

The throng freezes. Seizing on the opportunity, I jump onto the pile of stones and unsheathe Masamune. A grandiose sight it is, my blade in its full length against the darkening sky, lit up by faint sheens of fire.

Under the many gazes, I momentarily feel lost.

"What is happening? Who said our defenses were breached? Who is in charge of the retreat?" I address everyone and no one in particular. "Who spread the rumor? A traitor? A Wutai spy?"

Suddenly the crowd parts, revealing a crouching man, in whom it is easy to recognize the zealous speaker. From the height of the stone pile, I point Masamune at him, holding his gaze fearlessly, firmly, and inquire, "Whose orders are you obeying?"

Pale and vibrant with fear, the man remains obstinately quiet. A SOLDIER, the same one I saw a few minutes ago, bends over the sprawled body and lifts him with a jerk.

"Who ordered you to create a panic?"

I am acting without much thought, intuitively feeling that if anything goes wrong, I will lose attention of the crowd and with it – control over their fear. Yet, the vociferous stir begins to quiet down, and a semblance of order sets in as the throng thins, leaving only the curious and the bloodthirsty.

I stare at the man for another minute and, losing patience to deal with his reluctance, gesture towards one of the infantrymen in the gathering which surrounds us, "Shoot him."

Angeal's heavy palm rests on my forearm, "Sephiroth, he is unarmed and harmless…"

I shake his arm off.

"I will not take any prisoners."

The infantryman is young and his hands are shaking as he raises a gun to the temple of the Wutai spy.

"Sir, do you want me…"

"Shoot him!"

"Sephiroth, how can you..."

I snap, turning my wrist, and in one sharp swing remove the traitor's head. Blood sputters onto my boots, a bright-red stripe on black leather, which even looks unreal.

"Why did you do it?"

Only now do I notice that I am clenching the long handle of the sword with such force that my fingers begin to numb. The air I breath in burns in my lungs.

"I had my reasons."

In silence, followed by curious and frightened glances, one of which belongs to Angeal, I make my way through the crowd, and above me, it seems, the sky cants, threatening to fall and crush the whole village.


	25. Chapter XXIV

_**A/N: **__Acknowledgement: _The quote about war belongs to the Prussian General, Carl von Clausewitz. In particular, Book one, chapter 4, 'Of danger in war'.

* * *

_Chapter __XXIV_

The night reigns over groves and gullies undividedly. Mist thickens near the river and wind carries milky-white wisps in the direction of the village where they gather anew in hollows and depressions, the fog curling so densely that only SOLDIERs with enhanced vision can find their bearings on the ground. No sounds wake the solemn still: thick carpet of moss dampens our footfall, gentle wind dies in the tree crowns, and even cicadas fall silent as if in anticipation of bloodshed.

We left the encampment a few hours after an unfortunate incident on the village square brought an end to the schemes of a Wutai spy, when the fires finally ceased burning and it was possible to hand over the responsibility for the command of Shin-Ra army to the high-ranking officers from the infantry. I could not trust anyone to perform my duty and yet to leave an army without a temporary commander was not a wise decision either. Tseng who insisted on joining Angeal and me thought the same.

At first, the road wound between trees, leading us away from the river into the depth of a small coppice, where it rapidly went downhill, ending in a narrow gully, overgrown with blackthorns as high as my head. Morning dew glistened on bluish-black drupes in rare moments when moonlight, taunting chance wayfarers, penetrated the milky veil. Our feet sunk in mud, which at times reached my ankles. I used Masamune to clear our way through the thicket. Each swing of its enormous blade left long swaths in uneven clusters of vegetation. My movements were mechanical rather than conscious, a sequence engraved into my memory to such an extent that it was no longer necessary to contemplate certain actions and reactions. Behind me, grumbled Angeal when we encountered an obstacle in the shape of a fallen tree log or a silty channel of a narrow brook.

Half an hour or so later, we struggle out of the gully, which offered protection from enemy's vigilant eyes. Stooping down so that long stalks of weeds can afford at least an unreliable cover, we quickly cross the open field. A fence separates it from the forest where Genesis' unit had withdrawn after sunset. I expect sentries to be posted there, but, no, we are met with silence, which I am beginning to dislike.

"What do you think happened here?" Tseng whispers, readying his gun.

It is not until we climb over the fence and go deep into the luxuriant forest that the signs on the ground clarify the situation. At first we stumble upon a small glade where a single body lies in a charred heap. By now, the fog thinned a tad, but in the impenetrable darkness only a SOLDIER can discern the details, which will easily escape anyone else's notice. For example, his uniform is bloodstained and burnt in several places, but the emblem of Wutai infantry is still visible on his shoulder. This man died from a single gunshot wound of a peculiar shape, which only a standard Shin-Ra rifle leaves when a bullet penetrates the body at an almost perfect forty-five degree angle. Hm. Sometimes signs speak clearer than any human in any language.

_Genesis…_

I close my eyes for a moment.

_Are we doing it right?_

"This man was shot by a Shin-Ra soldier," I address Angeal who curiously peeks over my shoulder.

"When?"

"No more than three and no less than two hours ago."

"Always so precise, huh?"

"Being a SOLDIER demands focus and precision," I begin my explanation, but Tseng interrupts me.

"We are wasting time, Sephiroth."

"You are correct, I suppose. A battle took place somewhere nearby between our units and Clark's." I no longer remember him, and only the crumpled picture of his lover lies in the bottom drawer of my table at the headquarters. "It is impossible to determine the outcome solely based on the insufficient amount of evidence we found here. Let's go."

I shake off clots of dirt which stuck to my coat.

The glade with the nameless corpse vanishing in darkness, we follow the trail of bloodshed as though it is a clear pathway in the brushwood. Like bones from a wound, broken twigs jut out of the drooping shrubs, here and there bodies meet the eye and boles of giant trees lie in our way like fallen soldiers. A yellow eye of the moon curiously watches over us from the starless sky.

Suddenly I halt before an unobtrusive group of trees. Something doesn't feel right. Something… I touch my temple with a gloved hand.

"What's going on?"

"The air… the silence… It's a trap," my announcement rings with chill calmness.

"How do you…"

"Angeal, on my right."

"Huh?"

Masamune, a soft colorless whisper, leaves its sheath. Guided by my hand, it cuts through the thin ropes, which connect the trees together, preventing them from falling until one of us makes a wrong move: a clever disguise which, however, offers no advantage against me. I am familiar with combat techniques in forests, on mountain terrains, on plains; in winter, in the rain, on a clear day, using direction of sun rays to my benefit.

Heaving loud groans, old trees reluctantly bend over the ground. I leap into the air, push off the crumbling logs, splitting one atwain with a swing of Masamune and dodging another, which falls directly at me, threatening to crush my body under its weight (although I am certain I would have survived nonetheless). Colliding in the middle, tree trunks hover over the glade for one indiscernible moment, which I use to place my foot onto the unsteady support, heel first, then smoothly shift to stand on my toes, pushing away and rising even higher. Wind, razor-sharp from the force of my jump, cuts my cheek. Cat-like monsters, which hid in the darkness, pounce at me from above, long tails flying behind their silhouettes, paws sprawled out and sharp claws shown.

I use one of my most effective moves, which consists of eight slashes, performed consecutively in the air: crisscross, then parallel to the horizon from left to right; then, dashing towards the next targets, I hail down a storm of thwart blows upon them and finally land, squatting and touching the ground with my right hand for better balance.

A few steps behind me Angeal wipes the blade of his spare sword.

"Sephiroth," my friend turns his head and remarks, his voice filled with concern, "your right arm is injured."

I squint at the thin cut on my right forearm, where monster's claws brushed against the leather of my coat, but as it turns out, there isn't even a scratch left on my skin.

"It's nothing," I reply, rising and returning Masamune to its sheath behind my back.

"Does it mean that the Wutai carried the day this time?" Tseng, too, joins the conversation. During the battle he stood aloof, letting us, SOLDIERs, fight.

"We should not expect a positive outcome. If our enemy had additional forces to spare for a surprise attack, it means that not only did they overwhelm our troops, but also awaited us to send someone to Genesis' aid. Perhaps it remained unknown to them that we lost communication with our units. However…"

"I know what you are thinking, Sephiroth… monsters as rampant as these were incapable of ambushing us unless someone set them loose on time. There," the Turk points to the woods, "the Wutai were smart to send only one trooper. I shot the poor bastard after he opened the cages and threatened me with his spear."

I nod gloomily. "Then our chances to find the answers we need by interrogating an enemy are lost, too. A pity."

"The battlefield shouldn't be far now," Angeal's gestures betray his fidget and sickly pallor covers his cheeks. He does not want to ask aloud a question that had been on my mind for quite a while. "Oh, look! It's actually not far at all."

My friend is right. When after a short struggle with the pile of logs we skirt the site of the skirmish, a small hill affords us a view of a waterside lush with reed and grass, where the final confrontation between Genesis' and Clark's forces took place. Even I with my superior sense of direction did not notice when the trail of the carnage curved, leading us back to the river a few miles downstream from the village.

Angeal and I exchange dark glances. If before there was room for doubt, now with ruthless clarity we see that Shin-Ra lost this battle. Astride from where we stand, looms a pair of movable cannons with a bright-red Shin-Ra logo, their cracked muzzles smoking. Bodies lie in a line, drawn with sick perfection, which disappears in the dank mist of the early morning. Stillness too is perfect, unnaturally so, as the battle frightened away flocks of birds and swarms of insects, which usually inhabit the profuse flora of the Wutai Island.

"Do you think we should search for…" my friend's voice is thick with emotion. Mine is void of any.

"No. I am certain Genesis made it out of here alive."

"Then I will report our location to the headquarters."

While Angeal busies himself with the task, I pass round the battlefield to search for the clues. It seems that the fight was heated, yet the Wutai overwhelmed us with numbers and artillery. Dints disfigure the ground, showing how frequent and precise the strikes were, how devastating an effect they had, wounding and decimating Shin-Ra infantrymen from the opposite shore. At first, I was hoping to find a few survivors, but, retreating, the Wutai killed most wounded soldiers and piled up their corpses by the river. Dark waters turn red from their blood and on them, as in mirror, quivers a reflection of the bright-yellow moon.

I approach the river, squatting mere inches away from the stream. Waves gently lap against the uneven shoreline, touching my boots and retreating. I take off a glove and plunge my hand into the water to check its temperature, finding it soothingly warm after days with barely any rain. Genesis escaped, swimming downstream when the battle turned hopeless. If the Wutai attempted to circumvent the Omega Unit, my lover had no choice but to try and break out, which led him away from the village and into the forest and then… I feel I know with certainty what Genesis and other survivors did as if I clearly saw it unfolding before my eyes.

"I found no survivors. The Wutai vanished without a trace: took their wounded and hastily crossed the river." Tseng's steps fade behind my back. "Our soldiers weren't that lucky; we could have a dozen or so who saved themselves by jumping into the river, but otherwise it was a massacre."

I raise my head, peering into the predawn sky, where pale-green light flares up slowly, foreshadowing a moment when, according to ancient myths, a sun god will open gates of his fortress and let loose the blazing chariot harnessed with wild horses with thick manes and flaming eyes. Some imagination they had, the creators of those stories.

"There are good chances that Genesis is still alive." I will know no rest until fate, which had befallen him, will become lucid to me.

"If he is not wounded, the stream will carry him into a small village a few miles away from us. When I sent those reports for Veld, I studied the area well. But you know the rules. We cannot dispatch the rescue team until his location is confirmed therefore my Turks will have to handle the search at first although rumor had it you didn't trust our abilities…"

"Some of the Turks were closely connected with Rufus."

"I will not deny we had… disloyal elements in our ranks, but same can be said of those soldiers who followed Lieutenant Clark."

"I get the point. I'll let the Turks conduct the search, however, I will expect results soon or…"

"Was it a threat?"

A sneer freezes on my lips, "We both know how undesirable it will be for Lazard or Heidegger to hear of your… incompetence."

Tseng remains impassive under my caustic gaze, even smiles his faint, inexpressive smile as if to show me that he knows a bit of what is going through my mind. For a long while, members of SOLDIER and Turks competed with each other, establishing between the two departments a relationship of strong dislike and tacit rivalry. But I certainly will not stoop as low as letting this petty argument go beyond the pale of professional courtesy.

Besides, Angeal's interference can sometimes be very timely.

"I reported our coordinates to the headquarters. I suggest we rest here for a few hours until they send a team to clean up this mess."

Tseng nods, his pony tail swaying from side to side. "I prefer however that we don't rest among the bodies. The smell is awful."

From the moment I left the forest, the air smelled like dried blood and dead flesh, but I notice it only now.

… We find a small clearing in the thicket half a mile away from the slaughter. I spread out my coat on the ground and lie down on the makeshift bedding, facing the sky and folding my arms under my head. Tseng uses his jacket as a pillow, Angeal leans against the sole tree, both of them succumbing to fatigue the moment they find respite. I lie with my eyes open, watching the discolored moon fade and listening to the cheerful twitter of birds in the bushes.

Usually before humans learn what danger really is they form an idea of it which is rather attractive than repulsive; an idea that a war is about heroes who go into a battle and by displaying valor under a noble impulse triumph. Some, like Clark, believe in it with obstinacy only death can surmount, feeding within their hearts a foolish certainty that not those with power and wit prevail in war, but those who are _right_. Yet didn't I with my own words contribute to the creation of that new _rightness_, by which Shin-Ra is going to conceal its conquest of land, riches and primarily mako? Didn't I with my own deeds smear – no, annihilate – that ideal of fairness and _rightness_, yet they still call me a hero?

I barely stifle a desire to laugh without restraint, without being frowned upon by Hojo, or lab assistants, or friends, laugh until even my legendary strength fails me. Why am I thinking about it? Is it because I failed to protect Genesis? Or… _them_?

"Is something the matter, Sephiroth?"

Angeal. Until I heard him speaking, I was under the impression he fell asleep.

"Those words you spoke to me earlier, before the incident, what did they mean?"

"Oh that…" he chuckles, "it was just a story and no story is not worth telling."

"So in other words you can call it stark nonsense."

"That's just a little bit too harsh. Genesis isn't telling me much, you know, and I still haven't learnt to read his mind… or yours. But sometimes he says he is fine only to hear someone telling him that he is not. Don't think I am far ahead of you in deciphering him though. He left without an extra word and I yet have to figure out why he wanted to go with the Omega Unit."

"Humph, that is simple. He feels I am being overprotective of him."

"Did you argue?"

"It wasn't too bad," I feel my lips stretch in a semblance of a wry smile, "better than most of his outbursts."

_And yet… something isn't_ right…

"I am scared a little, Sephiroth. How are we going to help him?"

"I do not know that yet. Sleep, Angeal, and let me think."

_Think_. Hojo's phrase comes to mind. _A role of a SOLDIER is not to think, but to protect those who do it for them. _Doubtlessly, repeating it filled him with a conceited sense of self-importance. I do not know what is more ridiculous, my earlier thoughts or the sudden recollection of an old fool who raised me.

At last, I softly laugh, but Angeal does not even notice.

**¸.****·****ˆ)(ˆ****·****.¸**

I feel refreshed after taking a swim in the river upon my return to the village. For many hours, having the sun shining into our faces with midday ardor, we directed the mission which concluded the battle for Dong Ha. At one point I ordered to take weapons and uniforms of the Wutai soldiers, wash them, dry them and distribute among infantrymen and SOLDIER I specifically chose for the future covert operation: a simple plan to disguise my men as the enemy and use that advantage depending on the circumstances. Then the vanguard, led by Angeal, set out towards our next target and I lingered behind to supervise and coordinate movements of the main Shin-Ra forces.

When a part of our army vacated the village, its inhabitants grew bolder, struggling out of their hideouts and returning to their dwellings from nearby forests. On my way to the river, I saw lone figures of men and women, timidly loitering by their houses if there was more than a pair of burnt walls left of the dwelling. Some silently sat on the porches, grieving; others picked up instruments and carried wooden logs and twigs from the forest to build themselves however temporary a shelter. Even birds came back: pigeons and sparrows were meticulously pecking through the road dust, seeking edible seeds and earthworms in utter disregard of the presence of people.

Feeling sprightly again, I hurriedly dry my hair and return to the tent, which was pitched in the main square so that civilians would not be allowed anywhere near it. Shin-Ra infantrymen and Turks spryly bustle to and fro, loading ammunition carts and moving cannons.

"You have a visitor, General," one of them tears himself away from the task and salutes.

When I enter the tent, I am expecting to see Tseng with the news about Genesis' predicament, but instead I am greeted by the last person I desire to see now, Hojo and Heidegger aside. Wearing an elegant but unpretentious blue suit, leaning her elbows on my table, there stands Mikelle, her lips quivering in a forced grimace.

"General," she doesn't bother with a polite preamble, "you believe you can just lose another battle like that without thinking about consequences, about the grand scheme of things, which happen outside your battlefield. Hell's delight! What a narrow-minded creature you are!"

We met a few times during the last five months and I noticed that every time she was vexed or angry, she would exclaim, "Hell's delight!" in the same manner. Lack of positive news often annoys the editor-in-chief, but today she transgresses all bounds in her righteous fury. Usually with a calculating look in her eyes she would fling a remark about my appearance to further frustrate me; today Mikelle doesn't notice the dripping hair or the coat, which I left unbuttoned.

"What do you want of me?" I seat myself in the chair and access a program on my portable terminal to send a brief summary of the events to Lazard.

"_I_ don't want anything, General. If I had a choice, I would never set foot on this loathsome island and I would definitely not want to see your face again. Don't flatter yourself by thinking that every woman is very keen on getting into your pants," She fixes her burning gaze on me. "No, thank you kindly. I cannot ask you to satisfy a request as simple as giving me a victory to write about. How many months had passed since we first spoke? Three? Four? Five?" She theatrically counts off on her fingers. "No, for a whole half a year you have been wasting time, chasing after ghosts. The traitor is running around, mocking us, making us look fools in the eyes of the whole world. I don't care if Shin-Ra repeats in different manners how good you are because so far… Have you seen the latest article in _Midgar Times_? Hell's delight! It's a disaster."

In response to her tirade, I only show a deep frown.

"Today was a draw. The Wutai retreated, but we suffered great losses. Or would you say that victories come with ease? Or since you are the one sleeping with the President, perhaps, you could tell me why I am supposed to follow disastrous orders after being denied reinforcements for four times?" And having to wonder if my lover is even alive or fell victim together with a thousand other men to the President's short-sighted decision. No, my calmness is but superficial.

With trembling fingers, Mikelle lights a cigarette.

"I do not know what to do, General, but we desperately need a victory. If it is true that the Board of Directors appointed you to give them a miracle, it will be a good time to show what you are capable of."

I wipe my forehead with the back of a palm, "I cannot march on the capital yet. If we rally the remaining troops and even receive reinforcements from Junon, the Wutai will crush us. But… "

Suddenly hatred distorts Mikelle's features, old, profound hatred.

"Then at least crush the traitor!" She exclaims and then, seemingly worn out by her previous emotional outbursts, recoils from me and whispers. "She deserves at least that."

"She?"

The editor-in-chief realizes too late that words she had not intended to speak slipped out of her mouth.

"What possessed me to say that! Tend to your own affairs, General, and leave mine to me."

"Personal feelings hamper your judgment."

"I am loyal to Shin-Ra, more loyal than even you," she snarls. It is not the confident, arrogant Mikelle I knew that speaks now. "I am ambitious, I do my job well, and that is all you or the President need to know."

"I do not care as long as you won't make it a habit to storm into my room, demanding a victory."

With effort she regains her composure and even lets out a feigned laugh.

"Think of it whatever you wish, but someone needed to remind you that you are not doing your job and only I had the courage, it seems."

"Tell that to a thousand men who died last night."

The number does not impress her or she hides it better than her other feelings. "You know what your problem is, General? You think that people die only on a battlefield. You think that it is the utmost tragedy, to lay down your life for a cause or without one in the heat of a fight, but I would say it's a good death. Those like me will write, 'They were heroes' and someone's son will proudly reread an old newspaper he keeps under the pillow. What about a meaningless death, the one without reason or fanfares? Disease? Car accidents? Something that no one will remember or even shamefully shun to mention?"

"Ha-ha-ha. You fail to see the difference. I do not care about diseases or accidents; I have no control over them. Here every choice I make means either life or death. If I forget a report about a broken cannon, others will die; if I fail to make a prompt decision, others will die; if I die, thousands upon thousands more will follow. Therefore I will leave diseased to doctors and high-flown debates about heroic death to journalists."

"What a pity… about the high-flown debates I mean."

At least, if not my words, then my glare is eloquent enough to compel her to understand that she is wasting my time and trying my patience. After Mikelle leaves, I send the report to Lazard and spend a few minutes staring at the screen of my portable terminal, failing to concentrate on any coherent thought. Then, realizing that I am not capable of helping my lover now, I open the database of Shin-Ra employees. Curiosity and natural prudence make me type Mikelle's name into the search engine, however, my attempt yields no results. Neither does my search in the extended database, which only staff members with higher clearance can access. Then I realize my mistake. She shouldn't be there in the first place.

However, when I type 'Mikelle O'Neal' in the general search engine together with the topics 'Shin-Ra' and 'media', I utterly accidentally stumble upon a curious detail which even has a name, Anne O'Neal. Mikelle has an older sister; or rather, had because Anne was pronounced deceased on a date, seeing which troubles me, yet I cannot recall the reason.

I return to the main database. Anne's name does not show up until I enter my clearance code and even then I do not see her picture or the name of the department she worked for. The information is either classified or someone erased it after her death, in which case the only traces of it I will be able to find in the archives. I drum my fingers on the screen. Could it be that Anne worked for Shin-Ra and died performing some duty? Mikelle's loyalty in this case makes no sense. She would hate Shin-Ra, holding the organization responsible for her sister's death, but she evidently did not lie. She was too emotional to lie. I can send an inquiry to Tseng or Veld and they will answer, but I do not wish to attract their attention to Mikelle's name or to my interest in this matter.

As always, I will have to do everything on my own.

Closing my portable terminal, I gather the rest of the papers, put them into the incombustible safe which a lock with my personal pin code seals, and entrust Kyle with it. Before leaving, I glance around one last time to check if I forgot something. The iron table is empty. Drawers are empty and neatly arranged in the corner. Walls look barren after I took the maps down. For a moment I have a strange feeling that someone is watching me, but when I turn abruptly, I do not see anyone standing by the entrance.

Through the hole in the wall come the last few oblique rays of evening sunshine.

* * *

**Interlude V. Nameless fear. **

_Sephiroth stood by the window, winding and unwinding a long silver lock around his forefinger. His lover fancied a habit to vanish into the world of thoughts, creating between them a vacuum, a barrier invisible to a human eye, but perceivable nonetheless. Then silence became unbearable, despite his efforts to concentrate: Genesis tried to read or write, or at least pretend being engrossed in wholesome pastimes, but every time with less and less success. _

_Sephiroth could disappear for hours. Abandoned to the mercy of his wild imagination, the redhead would ask himself how much he did not know about the foreign creature which froze by the window in a deceivingly relaxed pose, as if admiring his own reflection. Yet, albeit he did not know what Sephiroth saw in that fragile gate of glass, Genesis could tell that it was not the chiseled countenance with pale-green eyes and cheekbones, framed in locks of silver. Sephiroth had moments of vanity, but they were not frequent, passing like momentary whims. _

_Countless times Genesis asked himself why his lover had silver hair, yet never let those words pass his lips by deliberately pressing them into a taut line to keep the curiosity inside although it begged for freedom; foolish, untimely curiosity._

_And at the same time, if he never asked, he feared it would lead to something ruinous. What if one day he would wake up only to see Sephiroth gone?_

_Genesis had no name for that fear. _

Genesis woke up, chocking with water and dirt. His body felt numb, but when he tried to move, pain flared up in his chest and back, as if he underwent an attack of a swarm of angry hornets. What a feeble attempt it was to humor himself! But at least his efforts were awarded with a better view of the unfamiliar place where he ended up after a desperate attempt to escape capture. He was lying on a shoreline a few feet away from the wooden hull of a small boat. Huts and houses could be seen in the distance and children were playing in the dust, filling the air with cheerful laughter.

Genesis made himself move despite the ache, for it was only a matter of time before he would be spotted by the Wutai, and crawled behind the hulk of the boat where he anew doubled up, coughing and fighting a surge of debility. He was not wounded, only bruised and fatigued from fighting both humans and elements, but his sword and materia were missing: a terrible position to find himself in amidst the enemy. Thirst and heat only added to his torment as he would have drunk from the river, only the glittering, fresh water was so teasingly close and so far away at the same time.

The redhead must have blacked out again because when he opened his eyes for the second time, it was dark and pleasantly cool in a small room which accommodated him. Simple fishing gear hung on the walls and his bed was simple, too, low with a clean white mattress on it. His SOLDIER uniform was neatly folded on the chair and instead he was wearing a pair of gray pants made of unknown material.

'_Was I captured_?' A panic thought flitted across his mind. "_Could I be provided with a shelter and have my wounds tended to with a malicious intent?_"

Genesis vaguely remembered hands picking him up and carrying somewhere; voices glibly exchanging remarks in the native dialect; scraps of unobtrusive discolored clothing flashing before his eyes.

_Sephiroth would not be so easily captured… _

The second thought made Genesis grit his teeth.

"Ah, you are awake now, that you are," said an old man, appearing before the redhead's eyes. Straight hair of fading chestnut color fell on his shoulders as narrow as a boy's. He moved with unusual pep and his speech was often interspersed with nimble gestures. "We prepared you food, young stranger."

No, the old man positively harbored no ill feelings in his heart, but even so Genesis threw a cautious glance at the tray with boiled fish, bread, and a cup of tea before dismissing all suspicions. He was hungry after two days without a decent meal, battling legions and legions of advancing Wutai, fierce and relentless as demons…

"Do you know who I am?" He nevertheless asked before touching the food.

"You are a young lad who needs help, that is all I know."

"But," Genesis frowned, "I work for Shin-Ra and yesterday… yesterday…"

_'… so many died because I am not Sephiroth although I tried, although I should have been better…' _

"Those names mean nothing to us, that they don't. Lord Godo and Lord Maetsuki declared a war," a shadow of sadness passed over the old man's face, "but what can a man like myself do in such troubled times besides trying to survive? We did not need that war. Wars come and go, that they do, but we will live on regardless; we will fish in the open sea, grow rice, and make fishing nets long after Lord Maetsuki wins or loses."

"Did you say sea?"

"Yes, the river we found you by flows into the Great Sea."

Genesis swallowed the meal and felt tired again. At least breathing no longer hurt, but his eyelids seemed to have been made of lead, obeying not his desire, but some will of their own, extinguishing the light once again.

The could not, despite the effort, recall that fatal battle, how it began, how he ended up in the river, to whose perilous decision – or to which hapless alteration of circumstances – he owed the defeat. He only remembered Sephiroth, standing by the window, winding and unwinding a long lock around his finger, and in the gentle sway of silver his tormented mind finally found some semblance of peace…


End file.
